


Challenge (Breached Boundaries #2)

by Dusk Peterson (duskpeterson)



Series: The Three Lands [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Assassins, Bards, Character(s) of Color, Cousins, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Female Character of Color, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Friendship, Gen, Goddesses, Gods, Harassment, Het, Lords, Male Character of Color, Male-Female Friendship, Master/Slave, Multi, Music, Older Character, Original Fiction, Original Het, POV Character of Color, Parental Abuse, Pre-Het, Princes, Princesses, Rulers, Soldiers, Spies, War, don't need to read other stories in the series, gen - Freeform, kings - Freeform, ladies, master & slave, original gen, slavefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskpeterson/pseuds/Dusk%20Peterson
Summary: Something kept me back. Perhaps it was the faint sting I still felt upon my cheek, perhaps it was Rosetta's notes of warning, perhaps-- No, there was no question. What kept me back was the knowledge that the Song Spirit had sent my father her command, and in some manner my father was about to disobey it."When danger arises, an enslaved princess must reconsider her decision to remain loyal.Her father the King has enslaved her, ignored her suffering, and promised his throne to her cousin the Prince, whom she hates. Yet Serva, bastard daughter of the King of Daxis, still loves her father. She has passed up chances to escape from slavery because that would mean leaving her father under the dangerous influence of the Prince.Now, six years after a meeting with a Koretian spy that still haunts her, Serva must choose how highly she values her father's life, for war is about to begin between Daxis and the neighboring land of Koretia. And the King of Daxis, it turns out, has a secret that is far more dangerous than the war.Boilerplate warning for all my stories.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Female Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Three Lands [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15107
Collections: A Whisper to the  Dark Side, Badass women centric stories, Chains: The Powerfic Archive, Female Characters Deserve Better, Focus on Female Characters, Slavefic Central, Women being awesome





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _**Author's note:** This is the second story in _Breached Boundaries _, a volume in the Three Lands series. You don't need to read the other stories in the series to understand this one._

( _Melody:_ Introduces musical sub-themes. _Lyrics:_ Describe what the conflict will be.)  


**TESTIMONY OF THE HIGH LORD OF EMOR**

To Brian son of Cossus, Royal Clerk to the Chara of Emor: 

You _will_ waste my time with such trivialities, in time of war. Do you have any notion how many battle reports I have awaiting me? 

Well, I can be succinct in providing the information you request. At the time you are writing of, Emor was not at war with either of its southern neighbors, Koretia and Daxis. _None_ of the Three Lands were at war with one another; they were all in an uneasy state of peace, other than the Empire of Emor. We were busy tearing ourselves apart in civil war. But that came to an end eventually, as you know, and the Koretian Ambassador paid us a visit that prompted me to pay my own visit to Daxis. No, that conversation is not one you need record in your chronicle. Is nosiness part of the requirements of your office? 

The Chara, of course, was greatly troubled by the squabbling between our neighbors to the south. It was difficult for us to take sides in the dispute; both lands seemed to have equally strong claims to the mountain that stood between them. The ideal solution would have been a compromise between Koretia and Daxis. Certainly, if left to himself, I think the Jackal would have agreed to this. Koretia's ruler has a strong gift for peacemaking, as well as a strong gift for slaughtering attackers. If I had been the King of Daxis's High Lord, I would have advised him to make terms with Koretia. 

But I gather that King Leofwin was not gifted with listening to advice, whether it came from his High Lady or from the woman who was ranked as highly as he did in the Daxion government: his Bard, Rosetta. Perhaps he is one of those men who discounts the advice of women. At any rate, his one confidant was his nephew and heir, Prince Richard. By all accounts of the Chara's spies, the Prince was following his own sly path. 

As for the "slave princess of Daxis" that you refer to, I know nothing of her, other than what I've been told by the same people you've already consulted. Why do you insist on wasting my time by asking questions that you can answer yourself? 

Carle, High Lord of Emor  


**CHAPTER ONE**

April is a time of change in all the Three Lands of the Great Peninsula, but in different ways. Up on the northern mainland, beyond the bounds of civilization, the endless snow drifts down, while the ice along the northern coast begins to groan as it splits and melts. Further down the coast, in Emor's northern dominions of Arpesh and Emor, melted snow makes its way into rivers and eventually plunges into the Sea of Storms like a flock of hungry diving birds. The water gathers pace as it passes the Central Provinces of Emor and eventually Southern Emor. By the time the water reaches the narrow Koretian Straits, it is as rapid as a flung spear, so that only the most foolhardy trade-ships will attempt to sail along the Koretian coast at this time of year. Finally, the water bursts from its confines at the entrance to the Daxion Gulf, and there, next to the Lower Straits Port that serves the capitals of both Daxis and Koretia, it lets out its roar of victory. 

I thought I could hear that faint trumpet blast heralding the arrival of spring as I stood one day in the outer court of the King's palace, watching a trial take place. But I could not be sure, for the air was filled with sounds: The murmur of the crowd that was jammed within the court's perimeter, which was marked by milky white columns. The clanging of arms from the army headquarters on the other side of the palace. The high-pitched calls of mating birds in nearby trees. And faint like the rush of an undercurrent, the sound of the Spirit's music that only I could hear. 

It came, of course, from my father, who was almost finished questioning a prisoner. From the perfunctory manner in which he was asking those questions, I could tell that my father had already made his decision, and from the dangerous gleam in my father's eye, I could tell what that decision was. I was close enough to see this gleam, having squeezed through the narrow entrance that served the royal officials who came to the court. I had partly hidden myself behind one of the pillars, unnoticed by all except the royal clerk, a sour, incompetent man who would have chased me away in a moment if he had known that I was not there at my father's invitation. It was my thirty-eighth birthday; in lieu of any other present, I had decided to risk the wrath of Toft, the palace slave-keeper, and skip my noonday meal with the other slaves so that I could watch the court proceedings. 

The prisoner, a burly-bodied wheelwright, was kneeling before my father in the required submissive pose, but his jaw was hard, and he was speaking his words in a defiant manner. 

". . . Yes, it is true that Jerrold and I quarrelled often, and it is true that I threatened to kill him if he came near my sister again. But I did not kill him, and I have no idea why that bloody blade was hidden under my bed. Some enemy of mine must have placed it there." 

"So you deny your guilt," my father concluded formally. I could see him shifting ever so slightly in his place, eager to end the trial. 

"As the Spirit is my witness, I am innocent," said the wheelwright angrily, his hands curled into fists as though he were ready to fight anyone who said otherwise. 

My father nodded, and the guards came forward to pull the prisoner back. Beyond them, I could see one of the royal pages bouncing up and down on her toes, eager to run to the dungeon with the King's summons to the hangman. My father beckoned impatiently to Rosetta, who came forward slowly, with a stiffness to her walk that had not been there six years before, when we had held a conversation about a newly arrived prisoner in the dungeon. Yet her back was as straight as ever as she knelt before my father, and her gaze was firm as she looked up at him. He placed his hand on her shoulder. The music in my ears swelled like a morning tide as he said in a loud voice, "Sing to me the Song of the Sow." 

People in the waiting assembly whispered speculatively. Only Daxions were attending the court on this day, except for one light-skinned barbarian sailor from the mainland, who looked mystified by the proceedings. The crowd fell silent as Rosetta rose to her feet and began singing a children's nursery tale about a baron's son who was turned by an evil demon into a sow. Everyone whom the baron's son met thought him to be a beast, but one woman alone saw through to his beautiful spirit beneath, and she loved him for this. Thus she alone was given the privilege of seeing him in his true form, though the rest of the world continued to see the baron's son as a sow. 

I had been disappointed with the ending to the song as a child. I had believed that justice demanded that the entire world see the baron's son as he truly was. Those were the days when I wore the tunic of a King's daughter and was complimented by all whom I met in the palace corridors. After a few months of being dressed in a slave-tunic, I decided that the baron's son had been exceedingly fortunate to find even one person who was willing to look past his outward appearance. 

The people listening – family and friends of the prisoner and of the murdered man, a few interested city dwellers, and a handful of palace dwellers who had been drawn outside on this sunny spring day – were now exchanging glances with each other, though none of them dared to talk except for a couple of Lord Ernfred's children, who were making whispered wagers with each other about the outcome of the trial. A favorite game for Daxion palace children is to come to trials and try to guess what relation the Bard's song has to the court case. As a child, I had found by experience that the easiest way to win such games was to watch my father during the singing. Now, as Rosetta told of the ugly body that the baron's son had been forced to wear, and as she sang of the man's true beauty hidden underneath, I saw my father's gaze drift over to the wheelwright, who was standing between his guards and looking as defiant and murderous as ever. There was a moment of struggle in my father's face, and then his head bowed, and I knew that he had acquiesced to the Spirit's decision. 

The song ended, the prisoner was brought forward, and the King announced his verdict of innocence. The arrogant wheelwright fell to his knees, burst into tears, and tried to kiss my father's hand. With a look of distaste on his face, the King motioned the guards to escort the fortunate man away. My father did not care for close contact with his commoner subjects. 

The crowd began to disperse, though many people stayed where they were as the royal clerk came forward to read the latest proclamations. I placed my cheek against the pillar, watching my father walk to the far end of the court in order to accept the thanks of the prisoner's family. As he passed by me, not noticing my presence, he held a squinted expression which I knew was annoyance that the trial had not ended as he had planned. 

"I always wonder, when that happens, whether today will be the day he defies the Spirit." 

I turned my head to look at the Prince. He was standing beyond the court pillars, on the pavement that circles around the palace before ending at the army headquarters. He was leaning against a spear he held upright in his hand, and he was dressed in his grey army uniform, though he was bareheaded, and no sword hung from his belt. The white edging on his tunic, which marked his rank as subcommander, was smudged with dirt. I surmised from this that he had once again been helping his men with some sort of menial work. It was a simple but effective way to raise his popularity. Combined with his talent for winning unwinnable battles, this made him much loved by Daxis's soldiers. 

His gaze was focussed on the King rather than me. Startled out of my thoughts, I said, "He would not do that." 

"He has done it often enough outside the court," the Prince replied. 

The royal clerk's voice droned on, as tedious as a cicada's song at the end of daylight. I had recovered my wits by now. I asked with cool formality, "Do you wish my service, Prince?" 

For a moment I thought he was going to give me his mocking smile. Instead, he turned his head to look at me, staring at me silently as he continued to lean upon his spear. Then he said lightly, "On the contrary, Serva. I have come to offer you my peace oath." 

The sound of my name reverberated in the air like the clang of a blade hitting the ground as a man disarms himself. I stared at him as though I had just found myself talking to a stranger. My cousin's thirty-eighth birthday had taken place a few weeks before mine; I had served at the birthday feast, unnoticed by him or any other free-man. We passed each other daily in the royal residence without speaking. The Prince did not even bother these days to entertain himself by taunting me with the title "Princess" in order to emphasize my rank as a slave and illegitimate bastard. I had discovered, oddly, that I missed our fighting. 

This fact revealed to me, more than anything else, how wretchedly lonely I had become. My only friend amongst the slaves was gone: Grace had been sent to Emor to serve a nobleman there against her will. Six years after her departure, all the other slaves continued to ignore me. I no longer visited the dungeon. To my relief, Sandy had not been dismissed from his position as dungeon-keeper after the mysterious escape of a certain Koretian prisoner, but since I had been the one to help the Koretian spy to escape, I was unwilling to place Sandy in further danger by visiting him again. I knew that he understood, and that he still loved me as though I were his own niece. I had seen him once since that time, three years before, serving as an honor guard during the fortieth-anniversary celebration of my father's enthronement. Sandy had given me a quick smile when no one was watching. 

That left the King and his Bard as my only companions; both were often busy with their duties. And so I concentrated my thoughts on my own duties, wandering around the corridors as silent as the pause after a bard's song, and wondering whether my continued presence in the palace was really helping my father in any way. If I had instead taken the spy's offer to escape with him to Koretia . . . 

And then there was the Prince. But I did not go any more to the palace's hidden passage to listen to his sleeping-chamber conversations. 

My muteness after his speech was so long that a spark of amusement entered his eyes. He said, "Come, Serva, you need not look so surprised. We have exchanged peace oaths before." 

"Not since I left our nursery," I responded bluntly. 

"I have fought against eighteen rebellions since then and am presently preparing defenses against an attack by Koretia. Having one of my enemies sheathe her blade would be a change for me. Is it your pleasure?" And with no more preliminary than that, he came forward, placed his spear against the pillar, and breathed on his hand. 

I looked at his dagger hand, empty and motionless in the air before me. Then I breathed on my own hand and clasped his, saying, "I, Serva daughter of Clelia, do swear unto the Spirit that I will sing only peace toward Richard, Prince of Daxis, as long as he shall abide by this oath." 

Richard spoke his half of the oath, repeating the words we had childishly copied from my father after overhearing him speak them to a mainland ambassador who had come to negotiate a trade agreement with our land. The oath was meant to be taken by the King toward the rulers of other lands or their representatives, but in those days we had considered our battles to be of great consequence to the future of the Three Lands. Children usually do. 

"Now, then," Richard said, releasing my hand quickly as his formal speech turned colloquial, "come talk with me while I'm on my midday break." 

I shook my head, allowing myself to use the colloquial tongue toward him for the first time in three decades. "I have to return to work. I shouldn't even be here." 

The corners of Richard's mouth twitched upward. "Oh, I think that Toft will listen to your excuse if I'm there to give it. Besides, I've already arranged for our transport." 

I followed his gaze. Standing further down the path was Richard's young orderly, holding the reins of two horses. In response to the flick of Richard's hand, the orderly walked forward, while the click of the horse's hooves on the pavement sounded above the conversations of people leaving the court. 

My gaze travelled over the two horses – one a white stallion, the other a red-roan mare. I said, "I don't think I remember how to ride." 

"Well, then, you can spend your time falling off. I seem to recall that you were rather good at that." 

I tilted my head to stare up at the mare. I could tell from the look in her eye that Richard had chosen a spirited mount for me. I said, "That's a man's saddle." 

I heard the mockery running through his voice like a dark, dangerous current. "It's a bit difficult to locate a woman's saddle in the army stables. In any case, you're appropriately dressed." 

I looked down at my peasant-brown slave-tunic, shapeless and short like the royal tunic I had worn as a young child. In those days, it had not mattered that I wore clothing which exposed my legs to view. I looked up again and saw that Richard was kneeling next to the mare, his hands cupped in readiness and his eyes shimmering with amusement. Feeling as though I were stepping onto the unsteady ground of a southwestern marsh, I placed my sandalled foot in his hands and pulled myself onto the horse. Then I tried without success to tug the skirt of my tunic down to a decent level. 

Feeling my cheeks grow as warm as a midsummer sun, I turned my head, but Richard was taking no notice of me. He had stepped back several paces. As I watched, he ran lightly forward, using his spear to vault himself onto his horse. He snapped his horse's reins away from the orderly and said, "Ready?" 

"Don't go too fast," I replied. 

The twist of his mouth told me that I might as well have saved my breath. He turned his mount with one smooth tug of the reins, dug his heels into the flanks of his stallion, and began galloping toward the northern side of the palace with as much dispatch as though he were leading his vanguard. Cursing him silently, I retrieved my reins from the orderly, awkwardly turned my own horse, and felt the wind buffet my face as I started forward. 

I caught up with Richard at the outer edge of the army headquarters, and only because he had reined in his horse to a canter. As we curved our horses' path around the line of tents, we passed Derek, who was in the midst of giving orders to the lieutenant of one of his units. The subcaptain's dark eyes followed us like those of a carrion crow. Without a word, Richard tossed to his friend the spear he was still carrying. Derek caught it with a laugh that stretched the moon brand on his cheek. In a gesture whose meaning was unmistakable, he thrust the spear up and down as he held it. 

I could not see Richard's expression because he spurred his mount forward at that moment. When I caught up with him several minutes later, he was waiting at the entrance to the small forest that covered the northern portion of the walled palace grounds. 

The air smelled green and earthy here; the shadows of the leaves touched us like cool water. Lacy moss draped down from the trees, brushing our heads as we passed. I glanced over at Richard, who was searching the bushes with his gaze as though he expected to see a small figure hiding beneath them. He caught me looking his way, and his heels stabbed into the sides of his horse once more as he urged it forward. 

We went slowly through the pathless forest, picking our way carefully through gaps in the thickly clustered shrubs. Our silence was covered by the chirping birds and the angry chatter of squirrels who had been scared away by our horses from their spring play. 

Richard and I had come here often as children to play Hunter and Hunted, a game we learned from the children of a visiting Emorian nobleman. Richard had always insisted on being the hunter, so I had become adept at slinking silently through the undergrowth and dodging between trees. The only times he was able to find me was when I could not suppress my giggles at his inability to catch me. 

On the few occasions that Richard had allowed me to lead the game, I was not able to find him at all; his silence was as deep as the lowest note on a bard's harp. Now, faced with similar silence, I forced myself to take the lead once more, asking, "How was your journey?" 

Richard's mouth curled up. "Tiring. War negotiations are harder work than fighting a war." 

"What is the new Chara like? Is he much like his father?" 

Richard halted his horse with a deft tug of the reins, and then looked over at me with amusement quivering on his lips. "You slaves really don't pay attention to high matters, do you?" 

I restrained the impulse to respond to this remark the way I would have as a child: by shoving him off his horse. After a while he started us forward again, saying, "The Chara James has no kinship with the previous Chara. The Chara Peter died without leaving an heir, so the Emorian council appointed one of its lords as the new Chara. That's why the Emorians have been fighting a civil war for the past four years. The Chara James calls it a rebellion, of course, since he won the war against the other claimant to the throne." 

"So what is the new Chara like?" I repeated patiently. 

"I've very little idea. I was in Emor for two weeks, and for most of that time the Chara was out on the field, helping his subcommanders accept the final surrender of the rebels. Then, when he arrived back at his palace, he acted as though I wasn't there and went into closed meeting with the Koretian Ambassador. I suppose that the Chara considers the Jackal's blood brother to be of higher rank than the heir to the Daxion throne." 

I felt old memories stir inside of me as I was transported back to a dungeon cell, watching a Koretian prisoner lean over and sort pieces of straw. "The Jackal's blood brother is an ambassador?" I said with interest. 

Too late, I remembered why I had been discussing the Jackal's blood brother with the spy. Richard's eyes narrowed in an uncanny imitation of my father's. In a deceptively light voice he said, "You're interested in the Ambassador?" 

"Only because I've never heard of him before," I replied quickly. "I hadn't realized that the Jackal had a brother. How odd that the Chara would give him precedence over you." 

Richard had begun laughing before I finished speaking. Pushing aside a branch in our path, he held it back for me in counterfeit courtesy as he said, "He's not the Jackal's brother. A blood brother is a Koretian who has sworn an oath of friendship. This particular blood brother . . . Well, you'll want to keep well away from him, if your path should ever come near his. He's dangerous, and dangerously skilled." His voice turned as dark as it had been when I overheard him speak of the Jackal's blood brother six before. Indeed, his tone was tinged with something which – if the Prince's own words at that time were to be trusted – might have been fear. Then, as I passed the tree, he let loose the branch, which swung back in a buoyant manner. His tone turned light as he added, "Actually, I'm pleased that the Ambassador was meeting with the Chara, for I gather that he was in some sort of trouble – at least, I heard rumors that there was a tremendous fight between him and the High Lord, shortly after the Chara's arrival. At any rate, the Ambassador departed from the Chara's palace so quickly that I never even had a chance to meet the man for the first time. The Ambassador's fall from grace was the one satisfactory event in my trip." 

"The negotiations didn't go well, then," I said, having only the faintest notion of what the negotiations were. 

"They went very badly," said Richard. A shaft of light, piercing through the leaves and striking Richard on the face, revealed the tightness around his mouth and eyes. "The Koretians are heading the table of honor in Emor these days. No one wants to hear a word against them. The only success I had in sowing enmity toward the Koretians was to make mention of Lady Ursula at appropriate moments. The Chara Peter's Consort is unpopular with the Emorians these days. That was entertaining, but it didn't go far enough to make up for the King's stupidity last year." 

Richard's voice had gone low in an instant, the way it did when he was speaking in public with the subcaptain. I resisted an impulse to look over my shoulder before saying, "His stupidity?" 

"In refusing to loan the Chara the army divisions he requested. I told the King at the time that the Chara James was sure to win against his rival, but the King wouldn't listen to me. He said we should wait until the outcome was certain, so that we wouldn't end up supporting the losing party. So instead the Jackal lent the Chara the soldiers he needed, the Chara won the war, and our alliance with Emor is tattered and close to ruins." 

"I hadn't realized that," I said in astonishment. "I thought that Emor always supported us in our fights against Koretia." 

"It always has. Do you remember six years ago, when it looked as though Emor and Koretia might go to war? If the Jackal's blood brother hadn't intervened, and if the Chara Peter hadn't died soon afterwards, we might have been living next to an Emorian dominion today. As it is, we'll be lucky if we don't become a dominion of Koretia before our war with that land is over." 

We had reached the end of the forest. Before us stretched a small meadow that ended at the palace wall. The palace wall was actually the city wall as well; the two walls combined at this point, for the palace grounds were pressed up against the northern edge of the city, just spear-lengths from the point where the land abruptly rose to create the flank of Capital Mountain. Richard's gaze rose toward the tree-rough land above, as though he were trying to sight black-uniformed soldiers hiding amidst the foliage. 

I said, "Very well, I'm slave-ignorant, but I don't even understand what we're fighting about. It has something to do with the mountain, I know." 

"It always does." Irony trickled into Richard's eyes. "We've been fighting about this mountain since our two lands split apart. The cave is what we're fighting about this time. It's a very strategic place, that mountain cave – just the sort of place where an army commander or subcommander would place his soldiers if he wanted to attack a city." 

I followed Richard's gaze over to a gap in the trees a short distance up from the city, where the southern mouth of the cave gaped. The cave – actually a series of caverns that had been created by the ancestors of the Koretians and Emorians before our two people split apart ten centuries ago – bored straight through to the other side of the mountain, I knew. "Like the Emorians did when they attacked the Koretian capital, you mean?" 

"Yes, of course. Or as we could do if we wanted to attack the Koretians. Or as the Koretians could do if they wanted to attack us. Both of us are uneasy at having each other's capital cities on the opposite sides of the mountain; both of us want to possess the cave so that we'll have the military advantage." 

"Well, it _is_ our cave, isn't it?" I said. "The Song of Gold Walls talks about the cave belonging to the Spirit." 

The irony spread from Richard's eyes and pulled his mouth upward. "You're your father's daughter, aren't you?" 

Since this statement was indisputable, I merely replied, "I suppose that the Koretians claim it's their cave." 

"It _was_ their cave for a number of years, at least when Koretia was a dominion of Emor. The Emorians, with their usual lack of gratitude, never let us have the cave back after they we let them travel through our land in order to attack and conquer Koretia from the south. The Emorians said – they somehow managed to keep straight faces when they said this – that they didn't want any armies hiding in the cave and attacking the Koretian capital. Our army wasn't strong enough to fight anyone besides rebels in those days, so we let the dominion of Koretia have the cave." 

We were slowly making our way across the grassy stretch toward the wall. I tilted my head to look up at the short, ancient mountain that formed the border between Daxis and the southern tip of Koretia. This was where so much had happened: it was where our ancestors had found their gods, and where the Daxions had been given their music by the Song Spirit. It was where Koretia and Daxis had been born, on the same day that the Emorians in the north had been given their law. This mountain remained the heart of the southern portion of the Great Peninsula. 

The oak and maple trees on the lower slopes touched shoulders with the pine and fir trees on the upper slopes, creating an endless tapestry of green and brown. The only scars in this weaving were the paths that left the western and eastern gates of our city and curled around the sides of the mountain. I thought I could see a faint rustle of movement higher up, where the Daxion soldiers patrolled continuously, in order to hold back border-breachers. I'd heard that the Koretians similarly patrolled the northern side of the mountain. 

"What about when Koretia received its freedom?" I asked. 

"Ah, there you have the dispute. The Chara Peter gave all of the Land of Koretia over to the Jackal. We've been arguing with the Koretians ever since then whether this included the cave. The uneasy compromise we had worked out was that each of our lands would claim half of the cave, but the cave is divided into so many chambers that we haven't been able to agree on where the border actually lies, so our border guards keep having fights when they meet. The latest fight, at the beginning of winter, ended in dead guards on both sides – hence the threat of war." 

Richard slid off the saddle of his horse and took the reins of both horses in his hands, then reached up to help me down from my saddle. As I joined him on the ground, he turned to face the forest behind us. The sound of army life was faint, muffled by the trees that obscured sight of the palace. The cloudless sky above us burned azure with the noonday sun; only a cool northern breeze held the reminder of winter in it. Richard stood unmoving, his eyes fixed on the leafy screen before us. He said with sudden viciousness, "Those _cursed_ trees!" 

His change of mood was so abrupt that I jumped in my place. I said, "I've always liked this forest." 

"You're not a soldier. If the Koretians ever invaded us through the mountain cave, they would be able to get spear-lengths within reach of the palace before we saw them. It would be Hunter and Hunted all over again, with us as the hunted. I tried to persuade the King to cut down the forest several years ago, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said he enjoyed the hunting here too much, the cursed—" 

He stopped himself in time. Turning, he tied the reins to a nearby wild-berry bush. Then he began to walk quickly toward the wall. Hurrying to catch up with him, I asked, "Would the Koretians invade through the cave?" 

Richard shook his head. His hands were in fists, but his voice was level as he said, "Not at the moment; both of our armies are too alert for an attack there. No, they'd undoubtedly breach the border in the conventional manner, by way of the Eastern Gap." He pointed toward the east of the mountain, where a small gap separated it from the next mountain in the chain of mountains that surrounds and protects Koretia. "Whichever direction they arrive in, whether east or west or through the cave, we'll be in trouble. I've managed by some miracle to persuade your father to let me strengthen the city wall's guard, but he still won't allow me to increase the guard at the palace wall gates. He wouldn't listen to my advice there either. The Spirit defend him from actually listening to military advice from his subcommander." 

His voice had slurred quickly and decisively into his customary sarcastic tone. Like a mountain cat defending her kittens, I reacted automatically, saying, "He's Commander of the Army. It's his duty to make such decisions." 

"Oh, yes, he's commander." Richard's voice had grown very dark. "A commander who has never spent a single day on the field. A commander who could barely use his sword if his life depended on it. A commander whose idea of war is looking at little maps charting our victories on the battlefield. He doesn't have to look at the bodies of the men whose life's blood purchased those victories." Richard picked up a stick from the ground and whacked a bush to one side. 

Feeling astonishment and curiosity tremble inside me like a restless fire, I watched silently as Richard abruptly dropped to his knees and began poking the bottom of the wall with his stick. He crawled forward a short distance and began pushing back the long grass that obscured the roots of the wall. 

"What are you looking for?" I asked. 

"A hole. You start searching over there, where the wall splits, and I'll meet you back here." Richard did not look up as he pointed west toward where the wall split into two walls, one becoming the palace wall and the other the city wall. 

Feeling ignorant and foolish, I followed his directions and began laboriously searching the foot of the wall for holes. At one point, crawling on my hands and knees through a patch of mud, I became convinced that Richard was teasing me. I looked up quickly, but he was far down the wall, slowly and carefully inspecting the last remaining eastern portion of the wall before it split in two. 

Eventually, as promised, we met in the center. He was covered in mud as well; the white border of his army tunic was now sullied with grass stains. I asked, "Why a hole?" 

Richard was busy scanning the wall once more. "A prisoner escaped from our dungeon five years ago – no, it was six years, at the end of 985. We couldn't figure out how he had managed to breach the palace wall until we found a nice, man-sized hole dug under the wall there." 

He pointed. I looked with renewed interest at the wall. Next to me, Richard said with bitterness heavy on his tongue, "Not that the prisoner couldn't have found a dozen ways to escape. We only have one wall here, when we ought to have two, for safety's sake. The wall we have is crumbling at its foundations, hence the ease with which the prisoner was able to dig the hole. And if he had chosen to try to escape through the palace gates, I've no doubt he would have succeeded there as well, since we have such a light guard at those gates. The King says a heavier guard isn't necessary. Nor is a new wall necessary. So all that I can do is check this wall every month for holes and anticipate the day when our palace is burned down by the Koretians because the Commander of the Army thinks he knows more about palace defense than the subcommander who has been fighting in wars for over twenty years." 

Without thinking, I said, "He ought to pay attention to your advice, since you have knowledge on this subject." 

Too late, I realized that Richard had tricked me into expressing my opinion, but he did not follow up his advantage. Instead, he leaned back against the wall as bits of flaking stone floated down onto his tunic. With his arms folded and his gaze fixed on the forest rather than me, he said, "Oh, having no knowledge of a subject has never stopped Uncle from interfering. If he had his way, every council decision and every battlefield command would come from his lips. The only reason our council has any independence left is because it has Lady Elizabeth as its mistress, and the only reason our army wasn't destroyed long ago by Uncle's incompetence is because I periodically threaten to resign from my post. He knows that he couldn't find anyone of comparable skills to replace me. I may have to make that threat again to persuade him to let me attack the Koretians now, while their army is at its weakest. If we wait for the other Koretian divisions to arrive back from Emor, we'll have no hope of winning this war without sacrificing a large portion of our soldiers. But of course the King is always prepared to make sacrifices, as long as they aren't his own." 

For the first time, the Prince's eyes travelled over to meet mine; they were serious and dark. His voice – a low, level baritone that never wavered, even during the years when he was taking on a man's tone – was cool and controlled as he said, "I tell you, Serva, on the days before a battle when I awake to find a royal messenger awaiting me outside my tent with a missive from the King, overruling my plans for the day . . . When I know that my easy victory has been replaced by a hard-fought one and that my men are the ones who will pay the price for the King's arrogance . . . Whenever that happens, the only thought in my mind is the pounding certainty that I cannot wait another year until the King is—" 

He stopped before the ultimate word, which hung between us like an unsheathed blade. After a long minute, my throat had opened itself enough that I could ask, "Do you talk about this to others?" 

Suddenly, with such abruptness that it seemed as though a mask had been torn from his face, Richard's mouth twisted again into mockery. With delicate derision, he said, "No, Princess, I do not talk treason in public. You're practically the only person I would trust to hear this." 

I did not consider this to be a compliment, knowing that Derek was Richard's other confidant. Richard, though, must have taken my silence as assent, for he stepped forward and placed his hands lightly on my shoulders, saying softly, "See? I don't even have to ask you to remain quiet. You've always kept my secrets, no matter what it cost you. It's one of your more charming weaknesses." 

The laughter was barely veiled in his voice. Forgetting momentarily what I was, I pushed Richard away from me in one swift thrust. He caught his balance in time to prevent himself from falling to the muddy ground. For a brief moment I saw his eyes turn cool in calculation. But before I had time to worry about the consequences of my act, he glanced up at the sun and said, "I need to return to work. Let's head back." 

We made our way over to the horses. Richard silently helped me to mount. Then we plunged into the spring-bright forest like two gulls diving into sea-green waters. For a space of time, all my worries were dissipated by my determination to keep from falling off my mount. 

Twigs cracked under our horses' hooves like whips; birds gave protesting calls as they fluttered up toward higher branches; the wind thundered in my ears. As we broke free of the trees, I could see ahead of us, clustered like sharp, grey rocks, the army tents that housed the vanguard, the divisions of the army that are swiftest and most deadly. Ostensibly those divisions lay under the sole control of the Commander of the Daxion army, but so great was Richard's skill as a subcommander that my father had never bothered to take up his role as commander. Richard alone had led the vanguard into battle. 

A shaft of light reflecting off a soldier's sword pierced my eyes like fire. I closed my eyelids and became aware of the sweat running off my face like chill water. Then a break in my horse's rhythm caused me to open my eyes again. Ahead of me, Richard had slowed his mount in order to curve round to the south side of the army headquarters, where his tent was located. 

The easier pace gave me the opportunity to straighten my back; I had been hunched over the horse, clutching its mane as well as the reins. As I did so, I thought back on what Richard had said. Of course, I had already known for many years how little loyalty he held toward my father. He had never tried to hide this from me, as we knew each other too well for secrets. Yet never before had Richard been so candid with his thoughts. Was it just, as he said, that I was the only person, besides Derek, with whom he could confide? Or was he perhaps hoping to make me a party to some future treachery? I could remember all too vividly the occasions when he had inveigled me into some prank of his and then allowed me to take the full blame when the time came for punishment. 

Still, I could not believe that he would be so naive as to think that I would allow him to harm my father, much less take part in the treachery myself. And so Richard's actions that day – his peace oath, his dark truthfulness – remained a mystery to me as we came to a halt next to Richard's waiting orderly. 

Another person was standing nearby. At sight of her, Richard threw his horse's reins to the orderly, jumped down onto the pavement, and kissed Baroness Eulalee. 

The High Lady's kinswoman smiled at him; then she looked cautiously over at me as I scrambled off my mount. "Good day to you, Serva," she said in a low voice. She had the manners of a true noblewoman and always took care to greet me when we met. I do not think this was only because I was the King's daughter. 

My eyes were lowered as I bowed my head silently in response. Already she was turning back to Richard as he said, "My apologies. Have you been waiting long?" 

She shook her head. Her blue-black hair, which she wore loose, shimmered under the early afternoon light as she said, "The King sent me to find you." 

Something flickered in Richard's eyes then. He emitted a string of curses that the orderly listened to with amusement and Eulalee with patience. Richard finished by saying, "I'd forgotten all about the meal. Is the King furious?" 

"He's rather upset," Eulalee acknowledged softly. 

"And our guest? Has he arrived yet?" 

"Yes, but he's being very polite about the delay. He says that Emorians are too punctual in their formal occasions and that it's a change for him to be able to experience the more relaxed manner in which Daxions hold their receptions. He seems like a nice old man." 

"Nice! Spirit preserve us, have you listened to the man? All the way down from Emor it was the same: 'I must say, Prince, that it's refreshing to be able to visit a land where customs have remained unchanged for a thousand years. We in Emor are so restless, always trying to bring our laws up to date, rather than holding to the older fashions, as you Daxions do.' 'Do tell me, Prince, are we likely to encounter any countryside before the end of our trip? I confess that one great failing we Emorians have is that we always insist on cluttering our towns with bushes and flowers and other such nonsense. You Daxions, on the other hand, have clearly taken town life to its logical conclusion and banned any such distractions from your sight. I cannot convey to you how awed I am by your thoroughness in paving over every bit of greenery.' 'No, thank you, Prince, I would rather not listen to another song tonight. I fear that the beauty of the last one has overwhelmed me—'" 

The Prince stopped, smiling, as Eulalee buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder to smother her laughter. She was in her mid-twenties now, long past her prime courting years, but she still attracted many suitors because of her fine face-bones and large, gentle eyes. Like the High Lady, she was small in stature and delicately shaped, and her voice was as lovely as sweet mountain water. Richard had not looked my way since seeing her. 

I did not dare interrupt him now to remind him of his promise to give Toft my alibi. Instead, I sank onto one knee, unnoticed even by Eulalee, who was urging Richard with laughter to hurry and change into his formal clothes. Richard responded by reaching out to touch lightly Eulalee's ethereal gown as he complimented her on her appearance. I rose and turned toward the palace. 

As I did so, I noticed a figure standing beside Richard's army tent. I caught only a quick glimpse of the face drawn in pain by the betrayal she was witnessing. Then Lady Felicia turned and hurried toward the palace.


	2. Chapter 2

A short time later, I stood in the serving alcove of the council dining chamber, trying to ignore the ringing pain in my head. 

I had received the pain as a lesson from Toft, who had told me – and I believed him – that I was lucky to receive nothing more than a blow to the head for arriving back at the slave-quarters an hour late. I was saved from further punishment because the council's chief free-servant had been sending increasingly urgent messages requiring my service. My father, in one of those whims he acquired occasionally, had decided that I should take part in the meal-serving that would ordinarily have been the province of the council slave-servants. This was my father's way of showing favor to me, but the favor extended no further than that. He would not remember that I was present at the meal – or if he did, such a remembrance could only cause trouble for me. 

This was because slave-servants were expected to remain hidden and unnoticed in the serving alcove. In this tiny cubicle that was attached to the side of the council dining chamber, we slaves jostled for space, attempting to serve the meal without making any noise that would call attention to us. Half a dozen slaves brought the food up in a continuous stream from the kitchen, another half dozen placed the food on plates, and one particularly brave and danger-ridden slave handed the plates through the alcove doorway to the free-servants who brought the food to the table. 

The danger was that this last slave could be seen from the dining table. (Lady Elizabeth, being rather old-fashioned, scorned such Emorian innovations as reclining couches. When she hosted dinner guests, everyone ate as Daxions had for centuries: sitting on cushions at a low table.) If any noise occurred in the alcove – if someone clanged a pot or coughed too loudly – the King would rebuke the one slave whom he could see, the slave who was standing in the doorway. And the slave, having received a royal rebuke, could expect to receive punishment later from Toft. 

The palace slaves had been fortunate during the past six years in having Paula as the council's chief free-servant. She, having been a slave herself, was aware of the perils of our work, and so she never arbitrarily assigned the role of doorway server. Today I had volunteered for the position, partly because I knew that I was less likely to receive a rebuke from the King than any of the other slaves, and partly because the doorway server had the best opportunity to eavesdrop. 

My reasons for wishing to listen to the conversation went deeper than I was willing to admit to myself. I told myself that Richard's description of the Emorian High Lord had piqued my curiosity. I told myself also that I wished to learn more about the war in which Daxis might soon find herself involved. But the truth lay buried within me like an old and precious document that will crumble if you admit it to light. Knowing as I did that I would never see him again, I had found myself snatching bits of information during the past six years that would give me occasional glimpses as to what sort of man the Koretian named Andrew was – and Andrew had told me that he had spied in Emor. 

I was disappointed, though, in my hope of seeing the High Lord. A screen placed to the left of the alcove doorway cut off my view of everything except the people placed at the far end of the table: these consisted of the King at the head of the table, with the Prince and Eulalee to his right and Lord Ernfred and Lady Felicia to his left. My father, with his twisted sense of humor, had placed Lady Felicia directly opposite to Eulalee, who was sitting by the Prince's side. The latter couple were facing me, but of course neither Richard nor Eulalee took any notice of what the slaves were doing. 

The High Lord was presumably at the other end of the table, next to Lady Elizabeth. I could hear his voice, which was firm and direct, like that of a schoolmaster who will not countenance having his pupils' attention wander. As I came forward to the doorway to hand a free-servant the last of the filled plates, all eyes were turned toward the Emorian council lord while he spoke. 

". . . agree with you in every respect, Lord Ernfred, that the Koretians are not a people to be trusted. They are sly, treacherous, deceitful, and bloodthirsty. I would as soon visit the black border mountains when they are snowbound as I would turn my back on a Koretian. But I am forced to admit that the Koretians do have a handful of virtues, and one of these is their eagerness to defend those to whom they have pledged themselves. An example I might cite is the Jackal's recent willingness to fulfill the terms of Koretia's alliance with Emor, despite the fact that he placed his own land in danger by lending us soldiers at a time when you were threatening him with war." 

I was forced to turn away at that moment in order to accept a plate that was being passed to me, so I did not see Richard's expression as the High Lord said this. I heard, though, the faintly dangerous rumble of my father's voice as he said, "We were certainly much grieved, Lord Carle, that we were unable to help you quell your civil disorder, but as I have explained before, our army is much strained at the moment due to the rebellion here last year. I am sure that you saw this yourself when my nephew gave you a tour of our headquarters yesterday." 

"I did find the tour to be of great interest," replied Lord Carle. "It was the most finely culled tour I have ever taken of an army headquarters. I was shown a low-stocked supply hut, but not the supply hut outside the city that is bulging with supplies. I was introduced to the small number of troops that are quartered in the palace grounds, but was not given the opportunity to meet the divisions you had recently moved to Lower Straits Port." 

The Prince, as cool as winter rain, sipped from his wine glass without saying anything. It was one of the council lords further down the table who said angrily, "I thought that you assured us that Emor was not sending spies to Daxis. How do you know about our country supply hut and our border divisions?" 

I saw a look of annoyance flicker over Richard's face as the council lord spoke, even before Lord Carle said smoothly, "I did not know about them until just now, Lord Rupert; I thank you for confirming my guesses. However, I am an old soldier myself, and I know how easy it is to trick foreign visitors to an army headquarters without explicitly lying to them. The Prince seems very talented in that regard." 

A small smile tugged at the corners of Richard's mouth, as though he accepted Lord Carle's words as the compliment that they purported to be. Poking at his meat with his knife in a pointed manner, my father said, "It may be, Lord Carle, that we have tired of dealing with Emor in an honest fashion because doing so in the past has only brought trouble to us. Thirty years ago this coming June we broke our alliance with Koretia, to the great advantage of Emor. We might therefore have reasonably hoped that Emor would support us in our quarrels with Koretia, since our quarrels began with that broken alliance. Instead, we have received threats of war from Emor as well." 

I was by now barely aware of what I was doing. A touch on the arm by Paula and a frown of warning alerted me to the fact that I was neglecting my work. I quickly took the stack of empty bowls from her and turned to hand them to the slave behind me. 

Back in the dining chamber, the High Lord was saying, "Emor will never cease to be grateful to Daxis for allowing the vanguard of our army to pass through this land and attack the Koretian capital from the south. Nevertheless, as you say, it is two months short of thirty years ago when we attacked and captured the Koretian capital. Much has changed since then. For one thing, our war was waged against Koretia largely in order to force that land to accept the benefits of the Chara's law, since the Koretians' incessant, lawless blood feuds were causing much trouble on our border. Since that time, the Koretians have adopted Emorian-style law courts; their ruler, whatever his other faults may be, is a great law-lover. Thus our own quarrel with Koretia has ended, and it is reasonable that Emor would want to preserve its alliances with both its southern neighbors, rather than arbitrarily break an alliance with one of them. We will certainly not go to war against either Daxis or Koretia – unless one of you is foolish enough to attack the other. Then the terms of our alliances will force us to defend whichever land has been attacked." 

"It is often difficult to tell who is the victim in any conflict, Lord Carle," said Lady Felicia. She was sitting stiffly with her head turned toward the other end of the table; she had not yet looked in the direction of Richard. 

"This is of course true, Lady Felicia, but you must admit that Emor has acquired special ties with Koretia in light of its recent generosity. We would therefore be especially reluctant to break its alliance with that land." 

Richard had been quietly picking at the food that was placed before him. Now he said in a light voice, "We are certainly aware of the special ties which Emorians have made with Koretians, Lord Carle. May I ask whether you have had the opportunity for further intercourse with Lady Ursula since her return to Koretia?" 

Eulalee dropped her knife on the floor. The footsteps of a free-servant hurrying forward to retrieve the knife were the only sound that breached the silence following the Prince's remark. Richard had his head turned toward Lord Carle and was watching him with a face innocent of all expression. My father, I noticed, was not looking in Richard's direction; his expression I could easily read. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes that I sometimes witnessed in the court when he had posed a trick question to one of his prisoners. This question had been plotted between my father and Richard; the High Lord was being tested in some manner. 

Until now, Lord Carle's voice, though it contained the slight wavering of old age, had been forceful and clear. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft that I could barely hear his words. Ignoring Richard, he said, "High Lady, I would appreciate your guidance on a question of etiquette. The people of my own land would respond to such a remark by placing a request for a court summons. A Koretian would deal with such a matter by drawing his blade. May I ask what similar Daxion custom will allow me to answer the Prince's question in the appropriate manner?" 

It was my father who replied by saying, "The proper custom in this instance, High Lord, is for me to remind Prince Richard that he is the council's guest at this table, and that he will not be invited to future receptions, whether hosted by the High Lady or by me, if he does not learn to behave himself." 

"Yes, my lord King," said Richard. "I apologize to Lord Carle for my remark. I am sorry for having given offense." 

He did sound sorrowful, but I suspected that Richard's regret came from the fact that Lord Carle had evidently passed whatever test he had been given. My father, I noticed, had not yet touched his wine glass; this was evidence enough that he believed the negotiations to be proceeding badly. He would not risk losing his train of thought from wine until some small victory had been won. 

Lady Elizabeth evidently shared his belief, for I heard her small, girl-like voice say, "Have you enjoyed your trip through Daxis so far, Lord Carle? I believe that you took a detour in northern Daxis to visit some of the countryside." 

My father was not prepared to give up control of the conversation so easily. He added with a dark smile, "I hear that you wished to return one of your servants to her family." 

Lord Carle's voice returned to its previous vigorous level. "Yes, indeed. I am afraid, King, that I have found over the years that it is unwise to employ foreign servants. However skilled they may be, they end up languishing and sighing for their homelands. The inevitable result is that I spend more time trying to adjust the servant to Emorian life than the servant spends in working for me." 

With a suggestion of mockery fluttering on his lips, Richard said, "I understand that this is not the first time that you have had trouble with one of your foreign servants, Lord Carle." 

My father shot Richard a warning glance, but the High Lord replied calmly, "Since the servant to whom you are referring is now the Koretian Ambassador, it would be impolitic for me to comment. I will say, however, that Koretians in particular are quite difficult to discipline, since they are such a savage people. That is why I have been surprised by how successful the Jackal's subcommander has been in training his army. That distinctive feature of the Jackal's army – tremendous violence combined with tremendous discipline – has led me to advise the Chara that it would be wise for us to maintain good relations with Koretia." 

My father gave his wine cup an impatient push; golden cider spilled onto the table. A pause ensued, in which it became clear that neither my father nor Richard was prepared to spar any further with Lord Carle. Then Lady Elizabeth asked in her piping voice, "Do you like the cider, Lord Carle?" 

"It is delicious, High Lady. I thank you and the council for such a savory meal." 

"I thought that you might enjoy a sampling of Daxis's native wine. I am told that you passed by some of our orchards during your countryside journey." 

"I did, yes." There was a note of wariness to the High Lord's voice, as though he was not quite sure where this conversation was headed. I noticed my father exchanging a similarly mystified look with Richard. 

"I am so glad that you had the opportunity to see them," said Lady Elizabeth in her sweet, untroubled tone. "We have heard that you have a very fine orchard of your own, and that it supplies the whole of Southern Emor with its apples and ciders – though most of your produce, I believe, is bought by the Chara's palace." 

"That is indeed the case, High Lady. Since Emor has so few orchards, my prices reflect the market demand. The Chara is one of the few noblemen in the land who can afford to buy my produce." Another pause followed, which the High Lady refused to break. With the grudging tone of a man conceding a victory to his opponent, Lord Carle asked, "Why does this interest you, High Lady?" 

"Why, Lord Carle, because of my concern over next year's trade agreement with Emor. As you know, it is time for our twenty-year renewal of the international trade settlement which bars both Daxis and Emor from sending into each other's markets large amounts of goods that are sparsely produced in our own lands. One of the intentions of that agreement, of course, is to protect Emorian farmers and merchants whose businesses would fail if we were to flood the Emorian market with, say, the apples that are so plentiful in our land and so scarce in your own. The Daxion council has always supported this agreement because we realize that ending such a ban would have a disastrous effect on the Emorian economy. But if we go to war with Koretia, and if our fight is prolonged because we have no outside support, then Daxis's own financial troubles may force us to reconsider whether to renew the trade settlement." 

There was a very long silence. Lady Felicia and Lord Ernfred were now openly grinning. My father's eyes once more sparked with amusement. Richard had turned his head on the pretense of handing his plate to a free-servant, but mainly, I think, to avoid letting Lord Carle see his expression. 

Lord Carle finally replied in a flat and neutral voice, "I will certainly convey to the Chara your concern, High Lady. As you know, Emorian law dictates that only the Chara may negotiate international trade. As a council lord, I am not at liberty to speak on the matter." 

My father allowed a smile to break onto his face as he lifted his wine cup to his lips. At that moment, I felt a hard jab in my ribs. I turned to see Maura frowning at me as she attempted to juggle several bowls of Daxion nuts in her arms. I quickly relieved her of two of the bowls and tried to ignore the water forming in my mouth from the smell of the warm, fragrant nuts. After all, I was probably the only slave present who had ever tasted this nobleman's luxury. 

Paula was waiting for the bowls at the doorway. Her heavy gaze told me that I had let myself be distracted again, and that she had been waiting some time for the bowls. For several minutes, therefore, I concentrated my mind on my work rather than the conversation. By the time I had a moment to pause, the talk had drifted away from matters of war to matters which, from my perspective, seemed far more important. 

". . . was sorry that she could not join us today," my father was saying. "She has been feeling unwell recently – the inevitable strains of old age, though she is far healthier than I expect to be when I reach her age. As you can see, though, we have invited her eventual successor, whose voice, I am convinced, will one day convey the full power of the Spirit." 

Eulalee turned to take hold of her harp case, which was lying beside her cushion. She kept her eyes lowered throughout the King's speech and only flicked a shy glance at Richard when he touched her hand with a smile. From the other end of the chamber, the High Lord said, "I confess that one of my main reasons for making this trip was the chance to finally hear for myself one of your famous bards. Bards occasionally stop at the Chara's palace, but it appears that Emor is only visited by the less talented singers of your land. Therefore I concluded that nothing but a trip to the bards' land would allow me to hear your music at its best and have a chance to see for myself how well Daxis deserves its reputation for culture and civilization." 

Richard looked Eulalee's way, ready to share the joke with her through his dancing eyes, but she was nervously pulling the harp from its case. Richard's gaze therefore rose, pausing for a jot of a moment on me, standing in the doorway and biting my lip to keep from laughing. Then his gaze travelled to the foot of the table, where my father was moving his cushion to one side in order to make room for his apprentice Bard. 

Eulalee reached the foot of the table, dropped briefly to her knee in order to gain the King's consent for her to play, and then stood to face the council and its guests. After a moment's pause, when it was not clear whether Eulalee would be able to overcome enough of her shyness to begin, she started singing a love ballad from southwestern Daxis – a simple, cyclical tune well suited to her talents. 

She had a lovely voice; there was no question about that. But I noticed that her concentration was not fully on her work, as would be the case with any bard who was drawing wholly upon the Spirit's powers. Her gaze kept drifting over toward Richard, seemingly in hopes that he would send her another reassuring smile. I saw that Lady Felicia also had her head turned in the direction of the Prince. 

And yet Richard noticed neither of the women whose thoughts were so focussed on him. His pose was the same as it had been from the days when we listened together to our nurse's songs: his eyes were closed, shielding him from all distracting sights, and his fingers were slowly tracing in the air the pattern of the music. The pattern he traced was not the simple pattern of notes that would have been obvious to any Daxion listening. Instead, his fingers wove the pattern that was hidden deep within the love ballad, like veins of gold within a common rock. He touched the core of the Spirit's power, he drew its beauty forth into the movement of his hands, and then, as the ballad drew to a close, he opened his eyes and stared straight at me. 

His eyes were dark; his gaze unreadable. It held me frozen, as though already he had taken on the power of the Spirit that would one day be his. Like a desperate prisoner seeking to evade capture, I jerked myself away, turning abruptly – and collided with Maura, who was about to hand me more nut bowls. 

The bowls crashed to the floor thunderously, halting the song Eulalee had just started. For a moment, all that could be heard was the chink of shattered pottery landing on the floor, the soft bounce of nuts scattering throughout the alcove, and the thud of my knees as I hastily lowered myself to the ground. Ostensibly, I did this in order to help Maura and the other slaves, who were already picking up the fragments of this disaster. In truth, I dropped to the ground so that I would have an excuse to stay out of sight of the doorway. 

Back in the dining chamber, Eulalee had started singing again. Maura was down on her hands and knees beside me. Pointedly, she looked toward the nuts that were lying untouched near the doorway; no other slave was prepared to go near them at this point. With my heart beating hard, I crawled over to the nuts. As I scooped them into my hands, I tentatively raised my head. 

The King was not looking my way; he was quietly conversing with Richard, who was also ignoring the doorway. But as I watched, Richard said something in reply to my father. I caught my name on his lips. The King beckoned to Paula, who was hurrying over to the alcove to see what had happened. My father spoke softy to her. Paula's gaze rose to meet mine. Richard had his eyes closed again, as though nothing had happened. 

I looked back down at the floor, searching out the last of the nuts as I listened to Paula walking steadily forward to give me my rebuke. My thoughts were on Richard, and on the peace oaths we had once exchanged and inevitably broken. Now that it was too late, I remembered that, while I never told Richard's secrets to anyone, the Prince had never had any qualms about using my secrets as a weapon against me.


	3. Chapter 3

Mist spilled through the open windows of the palace corridor like the warm breath of a woman on a winter's day. Gridley stood near me, supervising several free-servants as they struggled to close the windows, which had remained open since the arrival of spring. I waited until his back was turned; then I walked past him toward the staircase that would take me up to the royal residence. As his sharp voice faded behind me, I paused to stare with curiosity through the open door of the High Lady's quarters. Emil and Pernella were busy pulling feathers and masks and tapestries off the wall; Maura was carefully packing them into wooden crates. 

It reminded me of a ballad part that had been sung six years before, but three of the characters were missing. Grace was somewhere in Emor, serving some nobleman whom I prayed was not too cruel; Paula was on the ground floor of the palace, helping to close the palace windows against the sudden attack of the mist; and Norvin was dead. He had taken his own life upon being captured while trying to cross the border into Koretia, an action that had shocked all of the palace slaves, since we knew that Lady Elizabeth would not have punished him severely for his disobedience. The High Lady had not commented publicly on what had happened, nor had she taken any further action except to leave the supervision of her slaves completely to Paula thereafter. And so Norvin had been quickly forgotten by all but those of us who had worked alongside him and remembered his passionate desire to lead a better life. 

Maura caught sight of me as she knelt down beside the crate to place a pile of books in it. I did not give her time to snub me by failing to greet me, but instead asked, "What's happening?" 

Maura considered my question, then shrugged and said, "The High Lady had a fight with the King. She's going back to her town to stay with her kinfolk." 

"She's resigning from the council?" I said with surprise. 

Emil gave a dry laugh as he began pulling clothes out of a chest. "Plotting her revenge, more likely." 

"Lady Elizabeth isn't the sort to plot idle revenge," Pernella said sharply as she pulled a cloak off its hook with a furious jerk. 

"Planning her just vengeance, then," Emil replied. "In retribution for the way that the King has tried to turn the council into his slave-servant." 

Maura glared at Emil for being so candid in my presence. She said carefully, "She's just trying to figure out how the council and the King can work better together in the future." Her gaze drifted over to me. I was wearing the Koretian brooch my father had given me, which I normally kept hidden under my sleeping pallet where my dagger had once been. Maura said, not very hopefully, "If you have some free time, you could help us." 

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I'd like to, but the King has summoned me." 

"Oh." Maura spoke the word with abruptness. She swung her eyes away from me and went over to help Pernella pull a straw fan off of the wall. After a while, I realized that no one was going to speak to me any further, so I continued on, walking toward the royal residence. 

The smell of wild dampness permeated the palace. As though the palace had turned into southwestern marshland, mist dimmed the corridors and delivered a winter-like chill upon everything in its path. I walked slowly toward my destiny, enjoying the novelty of watching figures suddenly emerge from the grey blanket . . . and then a familiar figure appeared in my path, having just emerge from the King's chambers. 

He had a look in his eyes that I knew well: it was his look of calculation, when he found himself faced with several options and must pick the one that would benefit him the most. For a moment, he was so preoccupied in his thoughts that he did not even notice me. Then his gaze slid over to me, his face went carefully blank of all discernable emotion, and the Prince stepped past me without a word. 

We had passed each other in this way several times since the council reception. On the first occasion, Richard had tried to pretend that he had not broken our peace oath. I had fought back with the only weapon I possessed, keeping my eyes lowered and addressing him with monosyllabic formality. Since then, we had ignored each other, but I had felt uneasy, certain that Richard had not completed his attack on me. Now I wondered what he had been saying to my father about me. 

My father was alone in his sleeping chamber when I arrived, standing by the window that overlooked the mountain, now hidden in mist. Gridley must have closed the King's window before all others, for there was no trace in the room of the finely beaded air-water that was drifting through the rest of the palace. My father had answered my knock with a quiet invitation to enter. Now, as he turned to look at me, I saw a rare look of uncertainty flicker across his face. It was gone in an instant. He beckoned me toward him with a confident snap of the hand. 

As I came to stand beside him, his arm went round my shoulders; this too was uncharacteristic, and I began to feel uneasy. His voice was brisk, though, as he said, "This weather puts my hunting plans to rest. Still, perhaps we'll be lucky, and Lord Carle will lose his way in the mist and fall into the Western Ocean." 

"He didn't stay very long," I remarked, craning my head to look up at my father. A bit of metal against his chest caught the light from one of the oil-lamps nearby, trapping it as though it were a bird, but from my vantage point I could not see what the metal was. 

"Yes, I sent that acid-mouthed lord on his way; it was clear that his only motive for coming here was to torment us with futile hope. Richard tried to persuade me to allow Lady Elizabeth to take over the negotiations, since she helped win us our single victory against the High Lord, but I know better than to let the council decide matters of war. It was through allowing the council such freedom that I carelessly brought this land into its present peril." 

His arm slipped from my shoulders. He stepped forward to the bay window, pressing his hands lightly against the wavy glass as though he were a spirit who could pass through it at will. I could not see his face any more, only his silver hair and his back that was beginning to bow with age. His hands, blue-veined and loose-skinned, tightened upon the frame of the window as he said, "I was only twenty years old, you know, when I ascended the throne. My father had died at war – a lesson to me in the foolishness of having the Voice of the Spirit take part in battle. He died fighting against one of our yearly rebellions. Even though the rebellion was led by rabble, our army barely managed to put down the rebels. Until your cousin became subcommander, the Daxion army was something to laugh at. We could not have won any war against a foreign army. 

"This was the inescapable fact I faced one year into my reign, when Emor and Koretia began their Border Wars against each other. Both lands were urging us to assist them in their fight; both lands were threatening to declare war on us if we did not help them. It would have been the end of Daxis. And so I did the only thing I could do: I renewed our alliances with both lands and argued, as Emor's obnoxious High Lord now argues, that this double alliance prevented us from taking part in the wars." 

My father's head tilted back so that his eyes were now facing the tip of the mountain above us. Through a ragged patch in the mist, the mountaintop suddenly burst clear, and then disappeared again under the grey veil. My father's hands trembled as he gripped the frame tighter and said, "It is true that I did not consult the council before making the alliances. What time was there for that? Daxis stood in mortal danger. But for the next twelve years, the council had its revenge on me for my deed: the lords and ladies hammered at me, seeking to break my will in this matter, trying to force me to end my alliance with Koretia. I finally gave way to them and allowed the Emorian vanguard to have passage through our land – and as a result, Daxis once more stands in danger. That is why I will not allow the council to make important decisions in this land. No, I will not even allow Richard that freedom, skilled soldier though he is. It is my responsibility to care for this land, and I alone must carry that burden." 

I felt compelled to speak. "I didn't realize that you saw your role as a burden." 

My father pressed his hands flat against the window. On the other side of the glass, the mist pressed against the palace, seeking its way in. "It's easier for me these days than it was then. In those early years— Well, age brings natural changes, and one mustn't question them. But in those days, the Spirit breathed heavily upon me; her power worked through me often, not only when I was in the court. It was a joy, but I could have wept at times from the ordeal. Such an affliction – willingly assumed and therefore impossible to discard – makes one somewhat wild in one's actions. No doubt that is why I married Clelia." 

I had been standing at the edge of the window, absentmindedly touching the carved engravings along the corner of the wall. Now my hand froze, and my blood rushed into my head as my father turned toward me. The metal at his breast flickered again. I saw now that he was wearing the amulet my mother had given him. 

I found my tongue finally. "So it's true?" 

"That I married your mother? Yes, that particular slaves' rumor is true." He gave a wry smile before walking past me toward the other end of the room. He passed the great double bed, decorated with ancient carvings of musical instruments, some of which were known only through this piece of furniture. He walked past chairs with gold-threaded cushions, past tapestries bright with color; he walked until he could go no further. Then he picked up a cup that had been left on a jade table and sipped from it. I remained where I was, leaning against the polished wood of the wall. 

He turned around. His gaze drifted past me like mist until it reached the window. "I met your mother when she was little more than a girl," he said. "I brought her here one spring night, intending to bed her. She came compliantly, making no protest, though she was a woman who valued her honor. And then, when the time came, I found that I could not take her honor. Instead, I spent the night talking to her about my troubles. That was during the fourth year of the Border Wars, and my troubles were many; it was a relief to share them with someone who would not tell me the proper thing to do, who would not judge me for my actions. Night after night this happened, though I cursed myself when I was away from her, telling myself that it was idiotic for the King of Daxis to concern himself with the honor of a slave-woman. Finally, one hot summer night, I came to a compromise with my conscience – or so I thought. I secretly took her to a hidden part of this palace, planning to lie with her in private, so that no one would know that I had taken her honor. But I forgot that there would be one witness. The Spirit sent her command, and I obeyed." 

My father's hand tightened upon the jewelled cup; abruptly he dashed it down onto the table. The cup teetered, then fell, allowing the golden drops inside to splatter onto the table. My father did not notice. His gaze was fixed on the window, and his mind was moored to the past. "Afterwards, I was angrier with myself than ever. I was pledged to marry a council lord's daughter that winter, an alliance which could not be broken and which it would have been folly to break. I told myself that I would do what many a man before me had done – treat my marriage in the Spirit as a private matter, unconnected with my marriage in the law, and continue to keep Clelia as my mistress. Again, your mother made no protest when I told her my plans; she was submissive always to my will. Then one day she told me that she was carrying my child. I knew then that folly had mastered me, and that even my love of Daxis could not keep me to my royal duty." 

The spring sunlight was dimmed by the mist outside. The intensity in my father's face wavered in my view, as though I saw it from a long way off. His hands curled into fists as his voice grew more strained. "I did what I could. I postponed the royal wedding for a year; I met with your mother only in secret and forbade her from telling anyone who her unborn baby's true father was. I lived in joy all that winter, elevated in spirit through love of Clelia and the child. I lived also in torment, dreading the moment when my secret would be discovered. I prayed to the Spirit, asking her to find some way in which I could remain true to your mother and yet take to myself a Consort as my duty demanded. And then, one spring day a year after I had met her, your mother died in childbirth. I knew then that the Spirit had heard my prayers." 

He turned his face, stared down at the overturned cup, and carefully and gently set it back in his place. As one final golden drop trickled down the side of the cup, I said quietly, "Father, I am sure that you are not to blame for Mother's death. The Spirit would not kill an innocent woman in answer to a prayer." 

He looked over at me, his eyes smiling in acknowledgment that I had used the title for him that I had not used since I was a child – had not used because he had forbidden me from doing so on the day that I entered the slave-quarters. "That is what I told myself at the time," he said. "Yet it seemed to me somehow that your mother's death had been ordained from the moment I lay with her, and that if I had taken some other action – not married her, perhaps, or perhaps acknowledged our marriage – I could have saved her. I sensed that in some way I had gone against the will of the Spirit and that your mother had been the one to suffer for my disobedience. And so, seeking to understand why the Spirit had bid me to marry your mother – seeking also to conform myself to the Spirit's will in this matter – I took the action that brought scandal upon myself: I acknowledged you as my daughter and placed you in the royal nursery, handing you over to the same wet-nurse who was giving suck to Richard. And immediately my troubles with the council doubled." 

I moved away from the window from which I could hear the faint clatter of the army on the grounds below, toward my father who was standing motionless and silent in his still sleeping chamber. I said, "I didn't realize that you had problems with the council over me." 

"You were too young to know it at the time, but everyone deplored my deed from the start. Even your own wet-nurse named you Serva out of resentment for being required to care for such a creature. I dared not change your name, lest my action be misinterpreted. In vain did I point out that you could not inherit the throne; in vain did I acknowledge Richard as my heir until such time as I fathered my own. Though you could not be Queen, the council still suspected that I would try to place you in a position of great power. It is one of the ironies of my life that the council lords and ladies sought to place you in that position themselves." 

I had stopped a body's length away from my father. His watchful look as I approached him had told me that he wanted me no nearer. His hand slipped onto the hilt of his sword as though he were protecting himself against some danger. He said, "I'm sure you remember the uproar that occurred when I presented your cousin to the council for the first time." 

Picking my way carefully through my father's mood, as though I were walking through a marshland morass, I said, "I know that the council refused to confirm him as heir." 

"Yes, it was hard for a mud-stained prince to impress the council." My father's mouth was smiling, but his eyes looked upon me grimly, as they had thirty years before, when the episode took place. "Richard was working under a disadvantage to start with; even as a child, his humor was dark and could easily be misunderstood. He had not yet revealed his talent for soldiering. All that the council lords and ladies knew about him was that he was clever, pragmatic, and enjoyed playing pranks at other people's expense. The council lords and ladies, with their limited vision, could not see the potential in him that I did. They suggested – they came close to demanding – that I arrange to have you betrothed to a nobleman's son who could take the throne in place of Richard." 

My throat was beginning to ache from the stone that seemed stuck inside it, yet I dared not raise my hand to touch it, lest my father notice that I was wearing the brooch with the royal emblem carved on it. The fact that he had given it to me would not lessen his anger at such a moment. Speaking now with the brisk voice he used when giving unpopular judgments, my father said, "I could see the problem plain before me. As long as you remained a royal child, you would be a danger to Richard, whom I considered the best hope for Daxis's future – and my hope has been ratified by the man he has become. Just as importantly, you would be a danger to yourself. If I died suddenly, the council might force you to marry some powerful but cruel man, and your suffering would be as great as Richard's. So I took the only action I could: I placed you in the slave-quarters, where you would be safe from the machinations of my council. It is a decision I have never regretted." 

The steadiness of his hand on his sword and the assurance in his voice bit at me like a challenge. I said, in as neutral a voice as I could manage, "Would it not have made more sense to send me away from the palace altogether? You could have sent me some place where no one would know that I was your daughter." 

He moved forward then until he was standing before me. His hands slid onto my shoulders and touched the hair which was falling out of the rope that normally bound it back. "Granted you your freedom, you mean?" he said softly. "Believe me, my dear, I gave serious thought to that possibility. You are too innocent, though, to realize the methods that men will take to gain power. Wherever I tried to hide you, you would have been found, and you would have been forced to marry some villain – such is the evil of men. The only way I could protect you was to keep you under my immediate care, not even allowing you to leave the palace grounds, lest you be kidnapped. It is hard for me to treat you as I do any other slave in this palace, but your future happiness is at risk if I do otherwise. You are so delicate—" His dagger hand reached up to touch my cheek. "So fragile, just like your mother. You could not survive in this harsh world if you were not under my protection." 

I listened to his quiet words with growing amazement, wondering whether he knew what sort of life his own slaves led, marvelling that he should have the power to judge wisely the prisoners in his court and yet be unable to judge the nature of his own daughter. 

His hands were firm on my shoulders as he said, "Yet the danger to you continues because the council still will not confirm your cousin as heir. That is not Richard's fault. He has proved his worthiness as heir time and time again on the battlefield. It is the fault of that demon-possessed woman who leads my council and whose only wish is to cross my will in every way." My father's voice grew harsh, and his grip began to tighten painfully upon me. He quickly gentled himself, adding, "If I were to die tomorrow, you would be in great danger; the council would have the right to wed you to any nobleman it wished. And so I have been struggling to find a way to protect you." 

Perhaps he had used the word "protect" one too many times; perhaps also I was feeling against my body the harshness of my rough tunic-cloth in contrast to my father's soft words. At any rate, I found myself asking, "To protect me, or to protect Richard?" 

My father released my shoulder long enough to curl one finger under my chin as though raising my face toward him, though I was already looking him steadily in the eyes. "Both of you are precious to me," he said in a stern voice. "Or does this childish resentment you harbor toward Richard extend that far? Would you deny your own cousin the throne?" 

I could not answer him truthfully, bound as I was by some strange sense of honor from revealing to him what I knew of Richard's treachery. Instead, I allowed my eyes to fall, which my father evidently took as a satisfactory answer, for his hand returned to my shoulder as he said, "Well, I have found a solution to your problem, though it will require some sacrifice from you, just as I have had to make sacrifices for the sake of this land. But I trust" – his voice lingered on the word – "that you will undertake this sacrifice, both for the sake of Daxis and out of love for me. You must believe me when I say that I do this to protect you. Indeed, you may find that the burden is not so great as you think. It was hard for me to marry in the winter following your mother's death, and yet that marriage brought me some peace, though never the love I found with your mother." 

The room was very still. I could hear nothing besides my father's breath next to me. My nails bit into my palms and my voice grew high as I said, "You promised me that I wouldn't have to." 

"Sometimes promises must be broken, lest a greater evil result." My father's voice was still gentle. "No, listen to me first. I have not selected for you some coarse and uneducated slave-man. I have arranged for you to marry a nobleman. It will be a marriage of the Spirit, of course, and your husband will undoubtedly wish to marry a noblewoman in the law some day. But until Richard is confirmed heir by the council, your husband will protect you against any evil, conniving men, even if I should die. Believe me, I have chosen a man of great honor, one who will keep his word to me to care for you as though he had chosen you himself." 

Putting my hands behind my back to disguise the fact that they were now shaking, I looked up at my father with mute pleading. He brushed aside the hair on my forehead and said softly, "Is it the bedding that worries you? I have arranged matters there as well. The marriage must be consummated, or it will not be valid, but your betrothed has given me his oath that he will not lie with you until you are ready. You and he will have a chance to get to know each other as husband and wife before you make that final sacrifice." 

His finger curled under my chin again as he spoke; without realizing it, I had allowed my head to bow down. He tilted my head upward until our eyes met. Smiling at me, he said, "Come, child. Will you comfort me in my old age and ease my worries about the future by doing as I ask?" 

There came to my mind at that moment an image of Richard kneeling in front of me six years before, pressing my father's seal-ring between our hands as he twisted my heart. I was mystified by why such a horrible image would superimpose itself over the face of my beloved father standing before me. Then I realized that it served as a reminder to me that, in making this sacrifice, I might be able to help my father against a danger he did not even know existed. If I married a nobleman who was truly honorable, then Richard would not dare to kill the King, since such a nobleman would undoubtedly support me if I accused Richard of my father's murder. 

I bowed my head once more and murmured at my feet, "I'll meet with this nobleman you want me to marry. If he is the honorable man that you say he is, I'll do as you ask." 

"Good." My father's voice was brisk. As I raised my head quickly, I saw a look in his eyes which revealed that he now took the matter as settled. I had no chance to disillusion him, though, for he took my hand in his and pulled me toward the door, saying, "I have arranged for the marriage to take place this morning. I'm glad that you are nicely dressed for the occasion." 

My breath caught in my throat, both from what he said and from the quickness with which he pulled me down the corridor. He jerked me past the guards on the staircase and began climbing up to the top floor of the palace, taking two steps at a time. I just managed to keep up with him, but my blood was throbbing as I reached the top of the stairs. I could not tell whether it was exhaustion or fear that made my life's blood dash through my veins. 

I looked around me curiously as my father strode steadily down the corridor, keeping my hand firmly imprisoned within his. I had never seen this part of the palace. I realized finally that this must be the isolated section of the palace where Rosetta lived. She was not here now – I had seen her earlier, talking to Eulalee downstairs – so no one would hear my marriage vow if I sang it to the nobleman. No one but the Spirit, who would require me to keep my vow. 

I think that I must have made some small sound of desperation upon meeting this thought, for as we came to a halt before a closed door, my father suddenly turned, enfolded me in his arms, and planted an uncharacteristic kiss upon my forehead. For a moment more, he held me in his embrace, smiling down upon me. Then he released me and stepped forward to open the door. 

I took a deep breath, followed my father's silent gesture to step into the chamber, and found myself facing the Prince.


	4. Chapter 4

He was standing at the far end of the room, dressed in his ceremonial tunic and with his hand resting lightly upon his sword hilt. Only his royal circlet was missing. If I had been thinking more clearly, I might have interpreted correctly the look in his eyes, but I could not raise my gaze beyond the mocking smile on his lips. 

At first sight of him, I came to a halt, feeling my breath knocked out of me as though I had been hit in my stomach. Feeling the jaws of the trap close round me, I took a step backwards. 

I got no further than that, for my father was standing behind me. His hands closed down on my shoulders, holding me tight, preventing me both from fleeing further and from looking around at him. As his fingers bit into my shoulder blades, he said, "Well, Richard, you need not doubt what her answer will be. I will leave her with you so that you can ask the question." 

"My lord." Richard's response was so subdued that I took a second look at him and realized that he too had recently endured one of my father's lectures. The Prince was here, not because he had plotted this scheme himself, but because he was following my father's command. 

My momentary rush of relief disappeared as I heard the door close behind me and my father's footsteps retreat down the hall. Richard waited until they could be heard no more; then he walked slowly forward and stopped in front of me. He placed his hands where my father's had been a moment before. 

I told myself that I should stop him now, before he started, but something tied my tongue. I tilted my head back to look at him as he began to sing. He had a rich baritone voice, as smooth as a bard's. For a while I was so caught up in the beauty of his voice that I almost forgot the words of fidelity he was singing. Then he stumbled suddenly, skipping over a word – it was "true" – as though he were a pebble jerking its way across the surface of a pond. He recovered himself immediately and sang a little further; then the same thing occurred once more. 

I knew what was happening, of course. Any Daxion could have guessed what was causing Richard's faltering, even if they had not been to my father's court and seen, as I had seen, a bard attempt to give false witness. The bard's lying had been betrayed by the Spirit in the same manner that Richard's was being. The only difference was that the bard had immediately halted and changed his witness, thus saving himself from being charged with perjury. By contrast, the Prince continued to stumble his way through the marriage vow. 

He had reached the point of the vow where my reply must come. Now he would take up the harmony while I sang the melody, repeating the vow he had just made. He travelled three bars into that section, stopped, and went back to the end of the previous section. When, for a second time, I did not join my vow with his, he fell silent, and his hands slipped from my shoulders. 

During the singing, his face had been full of the passion appropriate to the singing. No doubt, I thought, he had practiced that look many times during his seductions. Now his eyebrows dipped as though a crevice was forming in his brow, and his narrow eyes thinned to slits. He said in a dark voice, "Would it be presumptuous for me to ask why you are refusing me?" 

I had thought that he would be relieved by my response; I had not counted on his vanity fogging his good sense. I said bluntly, "One of us has to stand up to my father. Surely we can make him see that it would be absurd for us to marry when we hate each other." 

Keeping his eyes focussed on me, Richard took several steps backwards, then folded his arms and leaned his right shoulder against the wall. After a minute he said, "Don't be so bold as to sing another person's witness, Princess. You may be my enemy, but I have never hated you." 

After a while, I recovered my senses enough to close my mouth and swallow. I said, "You _want_ to marry me?" 

The room was quite dark; my father had closed the shutters so that there would be no chance of our marriage song being heard by a witness. The Prince tilted his head slightly, and the cracks of light from the shutter fell upon his face like bright scars. "Let's just say that I find your father's arguments for the match hard to dispute." 

"Richard—" I stopped, realizing that I had slipped back into my childhood manner of addressing him. Now, of all times, I must not forget what I was and say something the Prince could later use as a weapon against me. I said stiffly, "Prince, I can see no reason why either of us would gain any advantage from such a union. Whether you hate me or not, you are still my enemy." 

"Then you can understand why the King believes that such a match would be to your advantage." Richard's words were leached of all emotion, and his usual mocking smile was gone. "The King is a clever enough man to know that I am your greatest danger. He also knows that, if I sing my vow to you, I will not harm you. I will not need to, for your danger to me lies in the possibility that you might marry someone else." 

"And what about you?" I asked in a shaky voice. "Do you plan to marry twice? When you become King, you will need a Consort to produce you an heir and to advise you in your work. What kind of danger will I prove to you then?" 

Metal whispered as Richard unsheathed his sword. He placed the tip of the blade on the floor in front of him and leaned on the hilt. "Time enough to worry about that when I am King. At the rate that your father keeps sending me out on the field to deal with rebels and foreign invaders, I may not last to my enthronement. Subcommanders tend to have short lives – all the more reason that I am unwilling to risk mine further by watching you marry another nobleman, who might ensure his rise to the throne by arranging my death. That is a prospect that worries me more than any problems I might face as King." 

I stared at him leaning hard against the sword that I had long feared he would use against me in order to strengthen his power. So lost was I in bewilderment that I could not prevent myself from saying stupidly, "You're afraid of me." 

Richard offered no reply aside from his mocking smile. After a while I said, "Prince, this is absurd. We can't marry each other simply because we're afraid of each other. You're deceiving yourself if you think that we could be anything but miserable in a marriage we undertook merely to keep the other person from arranging our death." 

Richard twirled his sword in a half circle; then he reversed the arc so that his blade slid smoothly back into its sheath. He walked over and placed his hands upon my shoulders again, saying, "Then I will have to give you another reason for us to marry." 

I opened my mouth to tell him that it would do him no good to sing the Marriage Song again. Thus my lips were still parted when his mouth suddenly descended upon mine. 

He was holding me only by my shoulders; it was easy enough to break away. So I told myself, and then I repeated this thought to myself a few seconds later. Yet I did not move as his lips and tongue pressed harder against mine, and he pulled me closer against him. I could feel his body, hard against mine. 

In the end, it was Richard who broke away. I stared up at him mutely. He said softly, "Now which of us is being self-deceptive, Princess? At least I have always known that we had this between us." 

His voice was unsteady, and he was breathing hard. I realized with astonishment that he was just as shaken as I was by what had happened. He turned abruptly away. Walking over to the window, he pulled the shutter open and looked out at the view. Through the mist that entered the room, I could see a sunlit drop of sweat trembling upon his forehead under the touch of a breeze. 

I said in a shaking voice, "Do you think me so base that I would marry a man I hate, simply because my body desires him?" 

He turned. With an expression as unreadable as that of the Koretian spy, he said, "I think you so pure that you would not desire a man unless you secretly admired his character. Perhaps you should pay attention to what your body is telling you." 

It must have been his blank expression that alerted me to what was happening. Richard was not giving me the sort of outright lies he had given Lady Felicia. Instead, like the spy Andrew, he was catching me in his trap by giving me half-truths. What the whole truth was, I could not begin to imagine; perhaps, in calling me pure, the Prince was actually insulting me. Regardless, I found myself boldly raising the matter I had not dared to point out before: "You could not sing that you would be true to me." 

Richard's face darkened, and for a second I thought I had gone too far. Then he reached forward and placed his hands on my shoulders once more. I steeled myself to reject his advances in whatever form they came this time, but he neither kissed me nor sang to me. All that he said was, "I am a man, Princess, with a man's desires; moreover, I am a soldier. Unless you some day enter a battlefield, you will never know what horrors a soldier faces in war. Some men shield themselves from those horrors by taking whatever innocent women are unfortunate enough to come their way. I have more restraint than that. But during the long weeks I spend in battle, I do on occasion need the passion of love to help me forget the passion of bloodthirst I engage in during the day. Therefore, I cannot vow to be true to you while I am at war. But this I do promise, Princess: whenever I am in this palace, no one except you will share my bed. You cannot expect better than that from any soldier." 

He stated all this with an intensity which bewildered me. I had to remind myself that, from his perspective, he was fighting for his life. It seemed that he had enough respect for me as an enemy not to lie to me blatantly; therefore, I must accept what he said as true. But it did not go to the core of the matter, and so I found myself asking him the central questions I had never thought to ask any man, much less the Prince. "There is more to truth than fidelity in bed, Prince. Can you promise me that, as far as the Spirit will allow you, you will always tell me the whole truth, no matter what it costs you or me? Can you promise never to deceive either yourself or me?" 

Richard's hands fell from my shoulders; I felt the warmth where they had been a moment before. The Prince stared down at me, the breeze from the window pulling back the curtain of hair on his brow to reveal a wartime scar imprinted there. "No, I cannot," he said softly, "and no man from any land could promise that. You ask too much." 

My throat hurt as I swallowed. I could not account for the tears forming inside me. "Then I will not marry any man from any land," I said. 

Richard opened his mouth. Then he swiftly turned to look at the door as it opened to reveal my father, who had taken the trouble to wait three times longer than the length of the Marriage Song. "Well?" my father demanded. 

I expected Richard to explode in anger. Instead, he put his hand lightly upon my arm as he said, "I will need more time to persuade her, my lord." 

His touch, so gentle, so warm, was causing my body to react in a shameful manner. This was what made me to lose my usual sense of self-preservation and declare, "There is nothing for us to discuss. I will not marry him." 

My father stepped forward. At first, I feared that Richard would continue to hold me captive, but he stepped silently aside to make way for the King. As my father reached me, I opened my mouth to explain further, but my first word was knocked out of my mouth by the force of the King's palm against my cheek. 

Shock was what caused me to cry out and lose my balance, falling to the floor. I had certainly encountered worse than this as a slave. My father had never interfered with the palace slave-keeper's discipline, not even when the slave-keeper had me beaten at length in a fruitless attempt to elicit the confession that I had killed the rapist guard whose body was found next to my mattress. Yet my father had never raised his hand against me in all the years of my life. 

Richard watched me fall to the ground without moving; his expression had turned unreadable once more. I stared up at the King, my cheek stinging, my mouth agape. 

He placed his folded fists against his hips. "You are my daughter and you are my subject and you are my slave," he said, his voice rising. "Any one of those facts is reason enough for you to follow my command, but let the last one suffice. I will give you one hour in which to compose yourself. Then you will return to this room and sing your Marriage Song and, if it is your husband's wish, go to your marriage bed. If you do not, then I will treat you as a disobedient slave ought to be treated." 

He turned toward the door. But he did not arrive there first; I fled the room as though all the demons of the world had gathered there to capture me.


	5. Chapter 5

They curled toward the palace like puffs of smoke blown from a bonfire: great rolling clouds of grey, touched golden-red where the setting sun managed to peer through them from beyond the Western Ocean. As I watched, the light grew fainter as the sun was drawn over the waterfall at the edge of the world. But still the mist continued to come, rising from the far-away marshlands like spray from a fall, edging its way east until it was stopped by the mountains between Daxis and Koretia. And here, in the shadow of one of those mountains, I let out a sigh, releasing my own mist in the air. 

Rosetta was settled upon a seat-cushion in her sleeping chamber, watching my stance at the window. She said, "The breath of the Spirit is heavy tonight." 

"Yes." I stood a while longer, staring at the grey world beyond; then I turned and made my way back to sit next to Rosetta. Never before had I visited her during the daytime; it felt odd to be sitting in her room when it was lit only by the sun. The great hearth in the sitting chamber was dark on this warm afternoon, and the doused candles around the room stood with their wicks at alert, as though waiting impatiently for the coming of night. 

"I don't know what to do," I concluded as I leaned back against the soft cushions. "The only reason I agreed to marry was in hope of being able to protect my father against the Prince. If I were to marry the Prince, I don't see how I could avoid getting entangled in whatever scheme he is planning. I always seem to lose my powers of reasoning when I'm around him, and I suppose it would be worse if we were married. The slave-women who are married say that, even if you hate your husband, you're bound to him in some way." 

I looked over at Rosetta enquiringly, but she merely said, "I am hardly the person who could advise you on that matter. I decided many years ago to devote myself solely to the Spirit. That makes me odd here in the palace, where even the High Lady is a widow. Enduring your father, though, took all my energy." 

This was more candid than Rosetta usually was, and I laughed as much in relief as in amusement. I had grown more and more nervous that day, waiting for her to return to her quarters so that I could ask her advice. I knew that it was presumptuous of me to visit her when she ought to be at her duties. Now, as she smiled at me through wisps of white hair that had drifted over her face, my muscles began to relax. I said, "I can see why the Prince would want to marry me; it would give him power over me. But my father— He has never hit me before. I know that he thinks he is protecting me and the Prince, but I don't understand why is so adamant about this." 

Rosetta reached over to her harp, which she always kept by her side. She plucked a string with the plectrum; in the background of the string's hum, she said, "Your father is a man of many layers. He often has hidden reasons for the actions he takes." 

My eyes searched Rosetta's face, which was hovering over her harp as she tightened a string. "You know something," I said. 

Rosetta smiled. In reply, she allowed her fingers to pick out a few notes on the harp. 

It took me a moment to recognize what the tune was, and then I felt myself grow hot, as though I had burst into Rosetta's chamber while she was undressing. For what she had just played was the opening phrase of the forbidden song I had overheard her sing when I was a child. 

So young had I been that she had even had to explain to me what I had eavesdropped upon, and why it was so important that I never reveal to anyone what I had heard. For the forbidden songs, I learned, were a secret given from the Spirit to the King and his Bard and his Consort. Only those three people were allowed to hear such songs and discuss them. The songs were so old that most were written in Ancient Daxion. They contained information the Spirit had wished to keep hidden from the Daxion people. Some of the songs were variations on ones that were known to everyone; others were songs whose tunes had never been heard outside the confines of the Bard's quarter. It was one such tune that I heard at age nine, when I secretly listened to Rosetta rehearsing a song to herself. It was a song of no importance to me; it had to do with dreary details of taxes. But like all forbidden songs, it was a secret meant for the sacred three people who, joined together, held the power of the Song Spirit. 

Since that time, Rosetta had never practiced such songs when I might hear them, and since that time also I had heard a little more about the forbidden songs from other palace dwellers, for every century or so, a King or Queen would judge that the time had come to reveal a particular forbidden song to the Daxion people. Some of the songs were prophecies; others, like the one I had overheard, were instructions by the Spirit on how to act if particular crises should arise in the land. (Thanks to my eavesdropping, I knew which tax our ruler should lay down in order to raise money for weapons if ever Daxis was attacked by mainland barbarians.) Still others were subtle additions to the Daxion law. Subtlety was the characteristic of all the forbidden songs; for this reason, Rosetta told me, the King alone had the power to decide when a forbidden song should be made public, for he alone had the power to judge what the song meant and when the Spirit wished that song to be heard throughout Daxis. 

Rosetta was bound by oath to sing and discuss the forbidden songs only with the King and his Consort. Even as a child I had realized that she was going against her duty in not revealing to the King what I had overheard. But she had kept her secret, and I hers. Until this moment the subject of the forbidden songs had never again arisen between us. 

I swallowed my questions, knowing that she could not answering them, but wondering in what way my decision whether to marry the Prince was affected by one of the forbidden songs. I said hesitantly, "Do you think, then, that my father is right in asking me to make this sacrifice? Is this something that the Spirit would want me to do?" 

She was a long time replying. I realized that she was finding it difficult to answer my question directly without revealing what she knew. She had plucked all her strings and adjusted all her tuning pins before she said, "I have no gift for judging such matters. My job is to sing the Spirit's songs; it has always been your father who judges what those songs mean. But I have noticed, more and more in recent years, that your father talks often about the sacrifices that others must make for the Spirit, when in fact they are sacrifices he wants made for his own peace." 

"The Prince said something like that to me," I said. "He said the King wanted other people to make sacrifices rather than himself." 

"The Prince is a good judge of men," said Rosetta. "In any case, I would trust the judgment of your father's heir. Do you think the Prince and I are right about this? You are the King's daughter; you have been as intimate with him as I have." 

"Yes," I said slowly. "I've seen that as well. The way that he spoke to me this morning, as though he were making the sacrifice rather than me . . . But I would never dare tell him so." 

"Nor would I." Rosetta ran her fingers down the strings, which now sang true. "It is not my role to question the King's judgment. If the Consort were still alive, she would be the one for you to consult. But I think that the King was seeking an end to such judgments when he chose not to remarry. He was never pleased when the Consort forced him to change his judgments, and throughout the rest of his life he has sought women who would defer to his beliefs in all matters." 

"The Prince is the same," I said, letting my gaze drift beyond Rosetta to the rest of the room, now grey like the mist outside. If Lady Elizabeth's love was of foreign trinkets, Rosetta's was of Daxion objects. She had filled her quarters with bits of the Song Spirit's land: along one wall hung a screen made of southwestern whistle-reeds, against another wall was a great carved bard's chair that must have been made for some town baron's hall, and on a table in one corner, black against the blackroot nut wood, were chunks of basalt rock from the black border mountains, whose winds, my father had once told me, sing songs older than Daxis itself. I closed my eyes to the sight of the land and let my ears fill with the faint sound of the Daxion army outside, saying, "Richard doesn't like being overruled either, whether by the King or anyone else." 

"I am not sure that is the right conclusion to reach." At the sound of Rosetta's voice, I opened my eyes and looked over at her. She was quite unnecessarily testing the tones of her strings again. She said, without looking my way, "If there is one obvious manner in which the Prince differs from the King, it is in his choice of women. The Prince has always courted strong-minded women, those who would be inclined to disagree with him." 

"Like Eulalee?" I said, smiling. 

Rosetta delicately turned one boney pin of her harp as she said, "Eulalee has more strength of will than it appears. She has refused to sleep with the Prince, and in that respect she has won a battle that her predecessors lost against the Prince." 

"I hadn't realized that," I said with interest. "And yet the Prince still courts her. Do you suppose he is simply determined to be victor, or do you suppose he sees her as an important goal?" 

Rosetta placed the tuning fork back on the cushions, saying, "He has told Eulalee that he is fond of her, which is so unlike his usual seduction songs that I am inclined to believe that his words are true. Perhaps he is keeping Eulalee in reserve in case he does not win a better prize." She smiled at me. 

"I'm hardly the prize he could have been hoping for," I said. "Even if he told me the truth and he has been secretly lusting for me, I'm sure that he would prefer to have me as his mistress rather than his wife. I can't believe that he's as afraid of me as he was trying to pretend. I think that he must be afraid of going against the King's will, or he never would have sung me his vow. My father might contemplate having two wives, one in the Spirit and one in the law, but somehow I can't imagine the Prince doing that, despite what he said." 

"No, the Prince has always been careful in such matters," said Rosetta. "Unlike your father, he never courts more than one woman at a time – which of course leads every woman he woos to hope that she will be his Consort." 

"Is that what Eulalee is hoping for?" I asked. "I thought that she wanted to be his Bard, when he becomes King." 

"I imagine that Eulalee would be happy to be at the Prince's side in any role," said Rosetta, laying aside her harp, "but I would be happier seeing her as the Consort than as the King's Bard. She may have the gift to be a Consort." 

"But you think she couldn't be the King's Bard," I concluded. "Why is that? It's not because of her voice, surely. Is it because she is so shy?" 

Rosetta shook her head as she leaned back against the cushions. In the increasingly dim light, her eyes shone like beacons with the reflection of the setting sun. "Although it is a song that may appear as a fable to you, I was once shy as well. The Spirit takes her bards as they are, using even their weaknesses as vessels for her power. No, what disturbs me about Eulalee is that she is less interested in serving the Spirit with her songs than in serving the Prince. Even though I defer my judgment to that of the King, I have always known that my highest loyalty is to the Spirit. I think that Eulalee also realizes there is a difference between those two loyalties, or she would not have opposed the Prince's desire to bed her outside of marriage. But I am not sure she realizes that being the Prince's Bard may require her to sing songs he does not wish to hear." 

She sounded as serene as always, but like a person who has stared at a rippling pond over and over, seeking out the pattern of its reflection, I was suddenly able to make sense of the images that had been presented to me over time: my father's anger in the court when Rosetta sang the song he did not expect, Rosetta's admission that she had been tired by dealing with my father, Rosetta's revelation that even the Consort had infuriated my father. What, besides the forbidden songs, had passed between the King and his Bard that had been hidden from the world? Whatever it was, it had been enough to cause Rosetta to befriend me, another victim of the King's power to cause pain in all his subjects. 

"Rosetta," I said quickly, "I never meant for you to become involved in this. I want only your advice. If I decide to oppose the King in this matter, I will do so by myself." 

"I think not," said Rosetta quietly. "You are the daughter of the King, and while the King may believe that he alone has the right to determine your future, I suspect that the Spirit may wish to add her thoughts on the subject. I truly am not sure what the Spirit wishes you to do in this case, but she should certainly have the opportunity to speak her command. And so I will invite the King to a private audience tonight, as well as certain high-ranked guests whose presence will force him to remember his vow to be the Spirit's servant. And then we will listen to the Spirit, and then we will know." 

I could make no answer to this, knowing that she was right, but I felt my throat close inwards at the thought of Rosetta facing the King's anger. I said in a tight voice, "Rosetta, you are too good to me. You always have been." 

Rosetta pulled herself up from the cushions, stretching lazily like a cat. "On the contrary, I think that I have done far too little for you over the years. I have never liked to involve myself in high matters, feeling that my time should be devoted to the Spirit's service, but I think perhaps that, in allowing your father to treat you as he has, I have failed in my true service to the Spirit. She is mother over us all, and she has a special love for those of her children who are vulnerable to the power of others." She walked over to a trunk nearby, her long, golden gown whispering across the floor, and opened the trunk. From it she pulled a harper's case, meant for long-distance travel, for it had shoulder straps that allowed a harper to wear the case upon her back, rather like a soldier's back-sling. From the case, she brought out a small harp, very simply made of blackroot-nut wood. It was free of decoration, but the line of its curve was beautiful. As she plucked the strings, I realized that this harp held as much of the Spirit's voice in it as the great harp that was always at her side. 

She walked over and handed it to me, saying, "One of these days, I will find an official excuse to give this to you – as a gift on the occasion of the next enthronement, perhaps, or, if the Spirit wills it, as a wedding gift. But it is yours until then in any case; you may play it here whenever you wish. It is the harp my mother passed down to me when I first became a bard, and it has lain silent since I took up service with your grandfather. It is much in need of a new owner to sing the Spirit's thoughts." 

I let my hands trail over the strings, which were made of horsehair rather than gold. "You ought to give this to another bard," I said. 

"Perhaps you will meet one some day who is deserving of it," replied Rosetta. "I have met many bards over the years who are true servants of the Spirits, but no bard I've met has captured my heart in the way that you have. The great harp will go to Eulalee, since she is my successor, but this harp— This one should go to someone I love. And so I give it to you." 

And without preliminary she sat down on the cushions beside me and began singing the Tale of the Song Twin. I joined in after a short time, trying to match my voice with hers, but I felt myself falling short, dragging the beauty of her music down by the weakness of my own singing and harp-playing. And so, in the end, I fell silent, listening to her sing quietly the ancient words as the sun sizzled down behind the waters at the edge of the world. 

o—o—o

I watched the King's Bard sing that evening, thanks to an ancient fire-screen. 

When Rosetta had left her chambers to send out her invitations to the singing, the unspoken assumption between us had been that I would go back into the hidden passage and return to see her later that evening, after her guests had left. But temptation toyed with me like a fisherman's line. I had never before listened to Rosetta sing in a private audience before the King. Now I knew that I could not simply wait patiently in the passage while my life's course was decided. I was not even content to lie under the floor-boards of Rosetta's chamber and eavesdrop, as I had eavesdropped many times under the Prince's sleeping chamber. Somehow it seemed important that I see every gesture made tonight, every change of expression on the King's face. And so, with more foolhardiness than I had ever shown before, I went in search of a hiding place in Rosetta's sitting chamber. 

I found it in the form of a fire-screen, so old and bulky that the holes in it that let through the fire-heat were mere pin-pricks through the thick brass plate. It was big enough to enclose the man-sized hearth, and it hid me perfectly. No one could know that I was behind the three-sided screen, yet I could look through the pin-holes and witness the gathering. 

Rosetta was a long time returning with her guests. I spent the time trying to ignore the cramps in my legs as I held myself tightly in a ball. After a while I began idly playing with my brooch as though I were a nursery child again, but I hastily pinned the brooch back on as I heard voices in the corridor. 

The voices were of Rosetta and the King. The other guests arrived soon afterwards, discussing matters of no importance with one another: a letter someone had received from a soldier stationed near the Border Port, the dreadful service someone else received from her slave, the arrival in the city of a boy-bard with a beautiful voice. . . . Rosetta remained unusually quiet throughout all this, idling her hand across the strings so that her harp's voice sounded as odd and lonely as the winds in the hidden passage beneath me. 

I saw the King give her a sharp look; then his gaze quickly switched to the corridor door, which had just opened to reveal the Prince. The King raised his eyebrows. Richard gave a barely perceptible shake of the head before going over to chat with a young soldier. 

Lady Felicia was the last to arrive. She was flushed and somewhat incoherent as she offered the High Lady's apologies. Perhaps her incoherence was due to Richard's presence, and perhaps also because the apology she was offering was obviously a lie. As she finished, Richard said lightly, "Dear me, Rosetta, you seem to have no luck in enticing guests to hear your music these days. The High Lady sends Lady Felicia in place of herself, the court clerk sends one of his scribes, and Captain Verald sends his able orderly – no doubt worthy replacements, all of them." He cast a smile upon the young soldier beside him. "Can it be, though, that your lack of popularity this evening has something to do with a certain pretty bard who is entertaining the rest of the palace dwellers in the Great Hall right now?" 

Rosetta made no reply. It was the King who said gruffly, "Enough, Richard. Your manners are even worse than usual. I notice that you, at least, were not so besotted with Eulalee's looks as to pass up the opportunity to listen to the Voice of the Spirit." 

Sensing the dangerousness of my father's mood, Richard said smoothly, "One Voice I might have declined to hear, but only a fool would miss the opportunity to hear two Voices of the Spirit. I apologize for my sharp tongue, Rosetta. My spirit is troubled tonight." 

He certainly managed to give the appearance of a man who is burdened with some great trouble or sorrow – perhaps a subcommander worrying about the fate of his men on the eve of war. There was not the slightest trace of the annoyance I knew he must be feeling at this point, nor of the scheming that his mind must be engaged in. Rosetta had been leaning over her harp to adjust the tension of one of the strings. Now her gaze drifted across to Richard as she said, "Would you like me to sing you a healing song?" 

It was a challenge; for a healing song to be effective, the sick person must be willing to conform himself to the will of the Spirit. I saw Richard's face grow still, and he opened his mouth to reply, but my father said, "None of that tonight, Rosetta. What the Prince requires is a song to cheer him. What about that tale you invented six years ago at his request, the Song of Courtship?" 

Rosetta permitted herself only the raising of one white eyebrow before she began singing the lusty tale of a man who falls in love with a willful, heartless woman who spurns all his attempts at courtship. The song describes all of the spiritual and bodily torments the man undergoes while courting the woman, as well as his eventual reward on his wedding night. It is the sort of song that is meant to be accompanied, not by silence, but by cheers and laughter. Everyone there gave the required response, though Lady Felicia's laughter seemed somewhat forced and Richard's cheers were quieter than usual. 

After that, each member of the gathering had a chance to pick his song. The soldier (glancing at Richard) requested a marching song. The scribe (the same scribe whom I had dined next to six years before) asked for a pleasant southwestern ballad. Lady Felicia (predictably) wished to hear a tragic love song about a woman discarded by her lover. And Richard (glancing at the soldier) demanded a song describing a bottom-ranked soldier's successful attempt to win the admiration of his subcommander. 

Darkness had taken the room captive. At the King's word, the scribe rose and lit the candles and oil-lamps around the sitting chamber. One lamp was on the mantelpiece behind me, and I held my breath, but the scribe apparently thought it would be too much trouble to lean over the fire-screen, for she left that lamp unlit. Faintly through the closed window came the sound of cheering from the Great Hall as Eulalee finished one of her songs. Tonight, I knew, Lady Elizabeth would be presiding over the high table in my father's absence, and Eulalee would therefore sing fewer songs about lovemaking and more songs about Daxions who remained loyal to the Spirit. 

It was my father's turn to request a song. Adjusting himself restlessly upon the floor cushions on which Rosetta's guests sat, the King said, "I have not enough time tonight to make this a long audience, Rosetta. In any case, I am eager to hear the song you have invented for this occasion." 

Rosetta allowed her hands to ripple across the strings like wind across water as she said calmly, "I have not invented a new song, King." 

A pregnant silence followed. The veins in the King's arm sprang clear of the flesh as his hands tightened. "You said that the Spirit had bid us gather here tonight. I would not have come otherwise; I have urgent business to do right now." 

"The Spirit indeed wishes you to hear her command." Rosetta's voice was unusually quiet, and she avoided the King's eyes as she shifted the harp in her hand into readiness. "But what form that command will take, I do not know. All I know is that she wishes you to hear her Voice." 

So deep was the silence that followed that I could almost imagine I heard the winds singing in the hidden passage, though the entrance to that passage lay beyond my sight, in Rosetta's sleeping chamber. Most of Rosetta's guests appeared mystified by what was happening, but Richard's eyes had grown narrow, and my father's hand were now trembling fists. With discernible effort, he unclenched his hands and said in a neutral voice, "Very well. I bid you sing as the Spirit wishes." Reaching over, he laid his right hand heavily upon Rosetta's shoulder. 

In the moment of his touching, two things happened. One was that Richard's head rose slightly as both he and I heard the music that gave proof of the Spirit's presence in my father and in his Bard. The other was that Rosetta's eyes widened and her mouth parted. I recognized the look: it was the one I had seen on my father's face one week before, when the Spirit required of him a judgment he had not planned to give. For a moment, Rosetta's face remained frozen as it was, staring with surprise at some unforeseen command. Then she bowed her head, and her hand began to pick out a few notes on her harp. 

The notes were familiar to all of the guests present, but especially to the Prince and me, since we had heard this melody not long before. I saw Richard and my father exchange a quick, furtive glance before turning their attention back to Rosetta. She had not yet begun to sing the words. Until she did, no one could know for certain which song was being sung. 

Rosetta began the tale. As she did so, I saw the King open his mouth and close it again hastily; not even he dared interrupt a bard who was singing under the Spirit's bidding. The other guests were beginning to exchange uneasy glances. It was clear that they wondered whether they were going to be forced to listen to all three days' worth of the Song of Succession. 

In the beginning, sang Rosetta, the Spirit brought her song down upon a people who were weary of war and strife, and eager to find a peace which would stay with them always, whatever might follow in their lives. The Spirit offered her peace to all the people of the southern peninsula, and those who accepted her offer she bound to herself and opened their ears, so that they might hear her songs. These people, the Daxion people, broke away from the other southerners who refused to acknowledge the Spirit as their only god. In doing so the Daxions found themselves to be without a ruler. The Spirit's command was that they should be ruled by the one who could hear her songs the best and the one who could sing her songs the best. In time, the Daxion people selected two candidates. One could hear the Spirit better than anyone else in the land but could not sing them well. The other could sing the Spirit's songs but could not hear them well. The Daxion people were puzzled and asked the Spirit which person they ought to pick as their ruler. In reply, the Spirit sent her power down upon both candidates, and so, from that moment on, both the King and his Bard became the Spirit's Voice. 

The King heard the Spirit's commands and gave them to the Bard, and the Bard sang those commands to the people. The Daxion people, though, were confused. If we wish to ask the goddess a question, they said, who should we ask, the King or his Bard? And what if the King or the Bard wish to ask the goddess a question? How can they do so if their power is divided in this way? 

Now, in this same year, the King took to himself a Consort. The Spirit, perceiving that the third side of the triangle must be completed, bound over to the Consort the power to be an intermediary between the goddess and her people. The King tells the Bard what to sing, and the Bard sings the Spirit's songs; for this reason it is the King who judges whether his people have broken the goddess's law. But if the King or his Bard break the law, or if the people wish someone to intervene on their behalf with the King or the Bard, then the Consort brings the Spirit's command directly to the people, and not even the King himself may disobey that command. 

And so the third Voice of the Spirit was created, and she has served the Spirit in this manner ever since. And there shall come a Consort— 

"Stop!" The word came from the King, who had risen suddenly to his feet like a flame shooting upwards. He towered over the other guests, who were seated in a circle upon floor cushions, staring up at him with open mouths. With one trembling finger, the King stabbed the air in front of Rosetta and said in a low voice that shook like the shout of an army, _"You have sung that which is forbidden."_

At this worst of moments, when all were turning to look with incredulity at the lawbreaking Bard while Rosetta's hand trailed away from the harp-strings that were vibrating from the King's shout— At this moment, my hastily pinned brooch came unclasped and fell with a thump onto the floor. 

I grabbed it before it could roll out from behind the screen. As I repinned it with shaking hands, I looked out again through my pinhole view and saw that the sound betraying my presence had gone unnoticed by all but the Prince, who gave the fire-screen only a quick glance before turning his attention back to Rosetta. She was continuing to sit hunched over her harp. Her hand moved slightly, touching a few strings as it went – at random, I thought, until I saw Richard's head suddenly jerk up as he recognized the tune. 

I would have been surprised if he had not; he had invented the tune himself. He had taught it to me back in his prank-playing days as a way in which I could warn him of trouble when I was taking lookout duty. The words that accompanied it were a dull and meaningless ditty; the importance lay in the melody, which was meant to convey a warning: "You are in danger of being discovered – flee." 

For an instant, Richard stared at Rosetta, who was continuing to keep her gaze fixed upon the fine strings of her instrument. Then slowly, as though he were merely looking around at the others, Richard's head turned until it was facing the fire-screen. It stopped then, and I felt his gaze boring through my metal hideout like a soldier's sword stabbing through armor. 

Perhaps Rosetta thought that I had some second route to the hidden passage from where I sat. But in fact there was nowhere I could flee to; the only entrance to the passage that lay in her quarters was in her sleeping chamber, beyond the circle of people in front of me. As I watched the people all frozen in their positions – Richard staring at my hiding place, the King continuing to point at his Bard like a soldier making an arrest, the other guests watching with looks of horror on their faces – Rosetta quietly gathered herself to her feet. Without looking at anyone present, she turned and walked into her sleeping chamber, closing the door softly behind her. 

The guests came to their senses at that point. The scribe mumbled something about having work to do back in her chamber, the soldier murmured that he had sentry duty later that evening, Lady Felicia whispered that she was in need of a good night's sleep, and then they all made an undignified dash for the door. 

Richard had turned his gaze away from the fire-screen. Slowly he rose to his feet, as though he planned to leave with the others, but my father stayed him silently with his hand. The King was staring with dark intensity at the door to the sleeping chamber. Then he began to pace back and forth across the fur-strewn floor. His hands had tightened into fists again; the blood in his throat-veins throbbed as though he were singing. With his head held high, he walked back and forth the length of the room before stopping in front of Richard, who was watching him silently. In a low voice, the King said, "You have not found her." 

I could not breathe in the next moments, but Richard merely replied in a cool voice, "No, my lord. I have had some of the slaves questioned, but it appears that she has not been back to the slave-quarters since this morning." There was a pause in which I had time to wonder, with my stomach tight, who had been questioned and what had been done to them to make them talk. Then Richard asked in the same level voice, "Do you wish me to have the palace fully searched, my lord?" 

My father did not reply; he had begun pacing again. Richard, I noticed, had positioned himself in such a way that he was between the King and the fire-screen. I realized from this and his words that he did not wish the King to find me. I was in no danger of being discovered by the King; the Prince wanted me for his own private purposes. 

My father strode through the darkness between the bright oil-lamps. In his gold tunic, he looked like a falling star plummeting through the night sky. He came up to the sole window in the room; a bit of lamp-light shone onto the mist pressing against the glass outside. He reached out his hand, and I thought that he would open the window. Then, with furious abruptness, he yanked the edge of the nearby tapestry over the window. 

He stood there for a minute, staring at the finely woven pictures depicting scenes from Daxis's countryside. Then he turned and walked over to Richard again. In a voice so low that I could barely hear it, he said, "Richard, I want you to bring me that subcaptain friend of yours. I have need of his service." 

For one shard of a moment, there was a break in Richard's expression, a hint of something hidden behind his usual composed look. But I did not have time to identify what it was. In the next moment, Richard's expression of cool calculation had returned. His gaze took in my father's face – dark with anger, and prepared to direct that anger at anyone who now opposed his will – and he responded with firm obedience, "Yes, my lord King." 

He turned. As he did so, he stumbled, bringing himself up against a chair, so that his sword sheath became entangled in the arms. It was a delaying tactic, I realized suddenly: the Prince wanted my father to leave the chamber so that he could roust me from my hiding place. Fortunately, though, my father knew his tricks as well as I did. The King roared like a golden flame shooting toward the moon, "Now!" 

So forceful was his shout that, for the first time in many years, I witnessed Richard fall briefly to his knee. Then he rose and made his exit, glancing only in passing at the fire-screen as he left. The corridor door shut with a soft thump, and I was left alone with my father. 

The King had his back to me. He was looking again at the door behind which his Bard waited. I longed to come forward to him, to mend all the harm I had done and agree to the terrible marriage. But something kept me back. Perhaps it was the faint sting I still felt upon my cheek, perhaps it was Rosetta's notes of warning, perhaps— No, there was no question. What kept me back was the knowledge that the Song Spirit had sent my father her command, and in some manner my father was about to disobey it. 

The air was mute of sound; I could hear no noise from the Great Hall, and Rosetta was silent behind the door. My father continued to stand with his back to me for a minute more, weighing his choices, making his judgment. Finally he walked steadily forward and opened the door into the sleeping chamber. The door closed behind him, I heard the sound of its bar being drawn, and I was alone in the room that the Spirit had visited not long before.


	6. Chapter 6

A braver woman than I was would have gone up to the sleeping-chamber door to eavesdrop on what followed. But my mind had scurried ahead like a frightened animal to thoughts of Derek's arrival. I was also trying desperately to figure out how to reach the next nearest entrance to the hidden passage. And so, with my mind selfishly fixed on the question of my own safety, I slipped out into the corridor. 

If Richard had been awaiting me there, that would have been the end of the song. Apparently, though, he had decided not to risk raising the King's anger by delaying his mission further. The corridors were empty but for the usual guards and the palace dwellers who were now drifting out of the Great Hall after dinner. For the next two hours, I played Hunter and Hunted, dodging my way past dozens of people who might know me. In the process, I sighted several familiar figures: Eulalee, who had started down the corridor toward Rosetta's rooms but was stopped by a guard who had evidently been given orders to keep visitors out; Richard, passing within an arm's length of me but too absorbed in his thoughts to notice me; a flicker of motion I instinctively knew was Derek, and with whom I felt an odd kinship, since it seemed that he too was trying to avoid the guards' notice on this night. Finally I reached my goal: a large grate at the end of the corridor, my gateway to the hidden passage. 

I scrambled immediately to the length of passage underneath Rosetta's sleeping chamber, but her chamber was silent now, and some whisper from the Spirit prevented me from immediately entering the chamber. Instead, I crawled my way hastily to the Prince's chamber. The first thing I heard there was the unusual sound of Derek's voice upraised. 

". . . was as mad as a demon-possessed man not to tell you before this," said the subcaptain. "What kind of game was he trying to play, to conceal this from you?" 

"He is the King, Derek." By contrast, Richard's voice sounded as cool as ever. "He is oath-bound to keep the forbidden songs even from his heir. Even now he would not have told me if the Bard hadn't broken her own vow." 

"Well, at least he has sense enough to deal with this matter properly, now that it has reached a point of crisis," conceded Derek. "But it makes for sloppy work, having to do all of this in a rush, before someone talked. I prefer advance notice in this type of work." 

"My dear Derek, I'm sure your work was, as always, a model of ingenuity. Tell me, what sort of accidents have occurred in the palace tonight?" 

Derek's voice took on a tone of amusement. "Nothing imaginative, I'm sorry to say. I didn't have time enough for that. Natalia fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck; the King really should put handrails along the palace stairways. Lytton had an encounter with bandits, who hammered his skull in; he'll be found in the countryside, safely unconnected with the tragic deaths in this palace. As for Lady Felicia, she, poor darling, has withered away for lack of your love and took poison tonight. She left a most pitiful letter proclaiming her love for you, which I'm sure you'll shed tears over when it is shown to you." 

"That's rather dangerous, isn't it, connecting my name with her death?" I could read nothing in Richard's voice except mild reproach. 

"Actually, the note is sincere and the poison was hers; it seems that she was only trying to raise her nerve to use it. Having consideration for your feelings in this matter, I gave her a choice as to her manner of death, and she chose to take the way which, she was convinced, would break your heart most. Women have a remarkable gift for self-deception." 

"All but one," said Richard flatly. 

"Ah." Derek's voice became apologetic. "We still haven't found her, I'm afraid. I have one of my units searching the palace, another guarding the palace and city gates, and the third checking the city. I'm afraid we're somewhat impeded by your instructions." 

"'Impeded' is a mild word for what will happen to both of us if the King finds I've issued orders in contradiction to his own. No one must know that you're searching for her on my behalf." 

"No one will, I assure you. What I meant was, we are hindered by your instruction to bring her back alive. Just what do you plan to do with her once she is under your care?" 

Richard's silence was more eloquent than any reply could have been. Derek chuckled and said, "I didn't know that you wanted her that much." 

"Oh, I want her." Though Richard's voice was light, I sensed underneath it the passion I had witnessed the previous morning. "After twenty years of dreaming of her every night, I want her very much indeed. Lady Felicia and the rest have all been ways to distract myself from the real goal, which till now was beyond my reach. I didn't dare touch her while she was in the King's favor . . . but now she'll be lucky to fall into my hands rather than the King's." 

"She'll never know how lucky," Derek agreed. "So, the King has finally been forced to choose between his two darlings, and he has made the right choice. All this could have been avoided, though, if he'd told you why he wanted you to marry his bastard." 

"Could it have been avoided? Her answer would have been the same in any case. I gave her the only argument she might have accepted – the truth – and she wouldn't take me. Well, now she'll have to take me if she wants to stay alive. And she'll know I'm telling the truth when I say that." 

Derek sighed. "You're such a romantic, Richard. If it were me, I'd have her and then burn her. That would stop all meddlesome dreams _and_ would keep the song from coming true." 

"You'll do as I tell you!" the Prince said with sudden harshness. 

During the pause that followed, I laid my wet cheek down upon the back of my hand and wiped my nose with the back of my fingers. Sounding surprisingly subdued, the subcaptain said, "You are my master, Prince. I follow your orders." 

"You didn't follow my orders where the Bard was concerned." 

I raised my head, greeted by sudden hope. His voice growing more quiet, Derek said, "No, I didn't, because I care for you too much to follow your orders when they can only lead to your destruction. I can hide our search for the bastard from the King, but your uncle is too canny to believe that his Bard would have slipped out from under my fingers. And suppose she had lived? She held the secret to your ruin, and she had already demonstrated that she was willing to reveal that secret." 

"Her death may bring about my ruin all the sooner." 

Derek, who was obviously struggling to suppress laughter, said, "If you're still worried about the Spirit, then you may be sure that in her eyes you are innocent. You argued valiantly enough against the King in this matter. One would have thought that it was your own first-born whom you were defending." 

"I know that this amuses you, Derek, but it chills me to the bone. The King ordering the death of his Bard is a blasphemy that has never before occurred in this land. Such a man doesn't deserve to rule." 

"Well," said Derek lightly, "that's a matter you can reconsider in light of recent events, isn't it?" 

I held my breath, waiting for a reply, but the Richard only said, "Besides, no one is going to believe that the Bard met with a simple accident in her own sleeping chamber." 

"Oh, as to that, the King's instructions were quite explicit." This time the subcaptain did laugh. "He is determined to shoot two arrows at once, since this matter must be dealt with. Believe me, when the Bard's body is discovered, the blame will fall on the proper party, and you yourself will avenge Rosetta's death." 

"What do you mean by that?" Richard said sharply. 

"Don't worry," Derek replied soothingly. "You'll be eager enough to undertake the vengeance. In fact, I have a message from the King concerning that. I ought to have delivered it at once, but I wanted to give you my report." 

There was a rustle of paper. Then Richard said in a relaxed voice, "What a cunning demon my uncle is. Well, I'll have my work set out for me, getting the army to the border in time. You can continue with your work here; I'll let your captain know that your units are to be exempted from the call-up orders. Just be sure that you find the Princess. You can be sure that, if you do, I'll express my appreciation in tangible form." 

"As for that, I never reject a gift, Richard," said the subcaptain, "but helping you in this matter would be reward enough. I'll leave you to your duties, then – but remember this." Derek's voice grew lower as he neared the door. "If you need assistance in dealing with any of your other kin, you know that I am your man." 

"I'll remember that," said Richard succinctly, and then the door closed, and the chamber above me was empty. 

o—o—o

Rosetta's sleeping chamber was not. The subcaptain had a poetic eye; he had laid the Bard upon her sitting-cushions, positioned in such a way that her body would be captured by the sun in the morning, when she was scheduled to be found. Her hand was lightly touching the harp beside her, as though she had been playing one final note of protest when she was found. Other than that, there was no sign of a struggle, and I doubted that Derek's artifice had concealed one. It would have served his purpose better, I think, if she had broken a few vases and overturned a table in an effort to escape him, for it would have created the tableau he obviously had in mind. However, he had a bard's instinct for not overdoing a scene; the only false note he had added was the sheet of paper that was pinned by the dagger against her heart. No words were written on it, but upon it was impressed the royal seal of the Jackal. 

Resisting an impulse to spend the night by Rosetta's side, I carefully tore the paper away and flung its pieces into the passage; then I took from the trunk the case with the small harp that Rosetta had shown me the previous afternoon. I slipped the harp case onto my back. There was no knowing whether I would need the harp, but I knew that I would never return here again.


	7. Chapter 7

A short time later, with the harp case weighing me down, I stood by the western gate of the palace wall, shivering in the dark mist. 

Figures solidified out of the torch-lit fog like death spirits suddenly appearing in the Land of the Living. They disappeared just as quickly, once they had travelled a short distance. The spring air wrapped its clammy arms about me as I rubbed the gooseflesh on my arms and rocked up and down on my toes. Just at the edge of the sea of mist, I could see the guard-bound gate through which I must pass. 

Like most slaves, I had entertained myself at times with thoughts of how I might escape if I ever had the opportunity. Having seen how such escapes failed, I had carefully composed in my mind a song that would end happily. First I would steal a cloak to hide my slave-tunic and to keep me warm on chilly nights. Then I would use the hood of that tunic to hide my face as I passed the guards. After that, I would go by a predetermined route to a place where I knew somebody could help me. 

Now all of my plans had been burnt to ashes by the necessity of sudden flight. I had no cloak; I did not know where to find the inn that the spy Andrew had told me of; and even if I should find it, I could not be sure that the Koretians whom Andrew had recommended to me would be there at that time or that they would help me if they were. Yet without help I could not hope to make it through the heavily guarded city gates. 

Even making it through the palace gates would be hard enough. As Richard had complained, these were usually lightly manned, and I had hoped that tonight I would be able to slip out the eastern gate through which army units were presently pouring. But when I arrived there, I had discovered, along with the usual guards, the short figure of a certain subcaptain I knew, idly chatting with one of the guards as he watched all who went through the gate and not-so-idly rested his hand upon his sword hilt. 

So there remained the western gate, and here too I could be sure that Derek's men were watching. There seemed to be nothing I could do except wait here and pray to the Spirit for deliverance. 

To the right of me, in the army headquarters, supply carts creaked as they were wheeled forward to be loaded, and army officials shouted as they gathered together their men. Further behind me, lost somewhere in the mist, the head of the vanguard was already making its way toward the border, but the vanguard, like the subcommander who led it, was swift and silent in its pursuits. All that I could hear from these divisions was the soft sound of hundreds of men marching forward; then even that sound was obscured by footsteps close behind me. 

I turned around, too quickly to pretend that I had any business to be where I was, and saw emerging from the damp mist two women and a man, all clutching wooden crates that were overflowing with feathers and beads and other such frills. They were led by a tall, straight-backed woman. As she sighted me, she stopped so suddenly that the slaves following her nearly ran into her. I held my breath, waiting. 

It did not take her long to make her decision. "What do you think you're doing there?" Paula asked, loud enough to be heard by the gate guards. "You're supposed to be helping carry these out to the High Lady's cart. Come over here right now." 

I bowed my head in submission and slipped quickly into the anonymity of the group of slaves behind her. Maura wordlessly handed me one of the crates she was carrying. As she did so, the High Lady's slave-servants grouped themselves around me in such a way that my face could not be seen by the guards whom we were about to pass. 

Thus I made my way through the palace gate, saved not only by the Spirit but also by the code of honor which is so deeply ingrained in every Daxion slave that even Paula still abided by it: that when a slave is in trouble with her master, the other slaves will do everything they can to protect her. 

The High Lady's cart was waiting a few spear-lengths from the gate, already top-heavy with the belongings that Lady Elizabeth carried wherever she went. The driver, a grizzle-bearded man who chewed on a bit of straw and spat periodically onto the pavement, took no notice of us as we handed our crates up to Pernella, who was standing at the back of the cart. As I raised my load to her, I glanced over my shoulder to the gate. The soldiers were speculating amongst each other about the motive behind the army move-out. They were taking no notice of us. 

The other slaves were now pulling themselves up onto the back of the cart. I was tempted to join them and see whether I could break out into the country in this manner. Perhaps Paula guessed my thoughts, for she said, "Make sure the boxes are tidy in the back. Lady Elizabeth will be here at any moment, and you know that she'll check to see that everything's in order." 

I glanced over at Paula. She did not look my way, but she stepped carefully forward, screening the gate guards' view of me. So I turned and walked forward steadily and silently into the night-dark streets. 

The sky above me was as dark as the bottom of a well, but I could easily see the stone-paved path beneath me from the light that poured out of the windows around me. Pouring forth also was the sound of musicians: a small girl singing a lullaby to her doll, a pipe sending forth a lively dance tune, a woman's hoarse voice raised in a lustful song that left no question as to her calling, and the hesitant plucking of a harp by someone just learning to play. I stood still, feeling my way through the threads of music and searching for a single type of voice. 

I discovered it finally, a voice so clear with passion and beauty that it ran like crystal water through the dark banks of the other sounds. Following its thread through the streets that were heavy with mist and hearth-smoke, I finally sighted an open doorway. Through it I could see men and women sitting or standing, their mouths closed and their eyes fixed on a figure seated at one end of a room, in a small alcove that sheltered him like a nest around a bird, or a throne around a king. He was playing a harp, but the dulcet notes that sang out from the strings were not as pure as the sound of the bard's voice. 

I looked up. Hanging above me, swinging slightly in the evening breeze, was the building's sign. It was painted not with words but with a picture depicting a golden harp and a silver wine cup. 

The Harp and Cup. This, then, was not the inn for which I was searching, the Watchful Traveller. But I now knew how to locate the others. 

I followed each bard's voice in the night as though it were a rivulet leading to a central stream. It was on the fourth try that I came upon them: not the Koretians I was seeking, but the men hunting me. 

I had been about to come forward to look at the inn sign, which was swinging in the cool night breeze and obscured by the half-grown spring leaves of a nearby tree. At that moment, I saw a man emerge from the music-filled hall of the inn. At the same moment, another man slipped out of the shadows of the eaves. He followed the first man silently, like a hunting cat, and I opened my mouth to give warning to the victim. Then some instinct made me fall silent and draw further back into the dark alley in which I was standing. 

They were nearly abreast of me when the first man whirled, drawing his sword at the same moment. I realized then that his weapon was what had alerted me to the man's identity, for he was not wearing a uniform. Even with his sword, I might have mistaken him for a baron's son rather than a soldier. 

The man who had been trailing him did not even bother to draw his own sword. He simply darted past the first man's blade, caught his wrist, and gave a soft laugh. "Peace, Tucker," he said in a low voice. "Rousing the city with swordplay is not part of your orders." 

The first man – I could see from my vantage point that he was only about sixteen – yanked his arm away before sheathing his sword. "You shouldn't have crept up on me like that," he said in a furious whisper. 

"You shouldn't allow yourself to be crept up on like that. You won't remain long in my unit if you don't make use of your training." The lieutenant looked reflectively at the young man before him. "You do remember the rest of your orders, I hope. Subcaptain Derek will break his fast on your flesh if you hand over to him a wounded prisoner." 

"'Lure her,' he said," the soldier replied with a snort. "How am I supposed to lure her if I find her in a place like _that_?" He pointed toward the inn door. 

The lieutenant had a faint look of contempt on his face as he looked at the soldier. "Use your imagination, Tucker," he said. "Gain her trust. Make her think that you want to help her. Just _don't_ try to seduce her. Somehow, I don't think that you're her type." And with another soft laugh, he shoved the soldier down the street, beyond my sight. 

I waited until I could no longer hear their footsteps, and then waited further until the bard in the inn had sung three drinking songs, before I finally emerged from the black alley. Running as quickly as I could, I made my way to the entrance of the inn and stared up at the sign. 

It depicted a man in a cloak with a walking stick in his hand. A harp case over his back revealed the man to be a bard; he was glancing over his shoulder to watch something behind him. A few trees and rocks in the background showed that the bard was travelling through the countryside. 

The door to the inn was closed, but the window shutters were open. Hesitantly, I went over to stand beside one of the windows. Resting my arms on the outer ledge, I peered into the timber-roofed hall that was red with firelight. Before this night, I had never seen the singing halls of inns, but by now the scene was familiar. At one end of the hall, tucked into an alcove, was a bard, sitting on a stool as she sang to the Spirit and to the people silently listening to her. Her assistant sat on the floor next to her; he was counting the coins that had been tossed into a nearby bowl and glaring at anyone who did not maintain a respectful distance from the bard. The alcove had its own door to allow the bard privacy, should she wish to be alone during her breaks between songs. 

All along the brick walls of the hall were benches upon which the inn's guests were sitting. Seated on the dirt floor in the middle of the hall were city dwellers who had come to drink cider and listen to the music. The inn was a modern building, and so it had a fireplace at the opposite end of the room from the bard's alcove. The remains of the old central hearth were being used as a trash-pit for nut-shells and fruit-skins and other such remnants of the evening meal. 

The room was silent but for the sound of the bard's voice, soaring through the air like a bird. All eyes were on the bard, but as I stood shivering at the window, a man glanced my way, grinned at me, and gestured silently with his head toward the door. 

I stepped hastily away from the window. The chest-high window frame did not reveal what would be clearly seen by all if I entered the inn: that I was wearing a thigh-short slave-tunic. To enter a free-men's hall alone at this time of night would be like shouting to the city that I was an escaped slave. I would have to wait until the singing was over and the hall was empty before I entered the inn and sought out the innkeeper. 

Another breeze shook the sign above me. The wind was from the southeast: it came from the Daxion Gulf, which was still cold with the flood waters that had brought melted snow from the north a week before. Once again I folded my arms against my chest and tried to rub away the cold bumps on my skin. As I did so, I looked around, trying to seek cover from the wind and from Derek's soldiers. 

The inn was formed in the traditional style, with three connected buildings overlooking a courtyard where the horses were kept. The fourth side was closed off by a tall wooden gate, and in this gate was a small door. A moment's inspection of it revealed to me that the door was securely locked. Sighing, I put aside my hopes for spending the night next to the flesh-warm horses. I was just turning aside when I caught sight of a man coming around the corner of the building that housed the inn's singing hall. 

There was nowhere to hide but behind the trunk of one of the nearby shade trees. There I darted with trepidation, feeling that Derek's men were unlikely to be fooled by such camouflage. But the man appeared not to notice me. His head was bowed down, throwing his face into shadow, and he wore a tattered cloak that was too large for him and that trailed upon the ground. As I watched, he came up to the gate and turned toward the door. He stood there with his back to me, staring at the locked entrance before him. 

He was standing in a patch of moonlight. I could see now that he was not a man but a boy, for his hair, rather than ending at his earlobes, fell in loose curls all the way to his shoulders. As I watched, he pushed the front of his cloak back over his shoulders, and these revealed his slim, youthful figure. Underneath the cloak, he was carrying a satchel on his left shoulder. His hand went into the bag briefly, emerged holding a small, thin object, and then disappeared out of my sight. After a moment, I heard a click, and the gate door swung open. 

I felt relief sweep over me. This was someone who belonged to the inn, perhaps the innkeeper's son. He would be able to tell me whether the Koretians were staying at the inn. Perhaps I would even be able to invent some story which was plausible enough to fool someone that young. As the door began to shut, I ran forward. 

The door had already closed by the time I reached it, but it was unlocked. Cautiously, I pushed the iron-bound door ajar. The courtyard was pungent with the smell of horses and hay and manure. Aside from a shelter for the horses at the far end of the courtyard, the yard was roofless. In one patch of moonlight I could see the boy; he was just going through a door leading into one of the buildings. I slipped through the gate door, closed it gently, and then, with a wistful look at the warm horses who were peering at me curiously, I ran to where the boy had gone, the harp case thudding against my back. 

This door too was unlocked. I slipped into the building, closing the door softly behind me. A moment's glance showed me that I was in a storeroom: earthenware cups lined the shelves on one side of the room, but they were heavy with dust, as though they were rarely used. The wall was punctured with windows; these were shuttered only with bound reeds, and so they let in considerable amounts of light. The moonlight fell upon the floor in long slits, like golden strands of hay, though the far corner of the storeroom was in dusky darkness. 

Here the boy stood with his back to me. He had taken off his cloak and was laying it and his satchel down on the ground as I watched. Then, like the soldier, he sensed something behind him, and he whirled around. 

I said hastily, before he should call out in fright, "It's all right! I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought you could help me. I'm looking for two Koretians whom I thought might be guests at your inn: Durand and Waldron. Could you tell me whether they are staying here, please?" 

The boy made no reply. He was still standing in the darkness, and so dazzling was the white moonlight between him and me that I could barely see his outline. His expression was hidden from my view. Aside from the inn music drifting faintly through the cracks of the window, I could hear only the rapid sound of his breath and the hard beating of my own heart. 

The silence stretched on. In my imagination I could see his eyes scanning me, taking in my rumpled appearance and my short tunic. Slowly, with little awareness of what I was doing, I raised my right hand and enfolded it around the mask-shaped brooch that showed a plectrum – a gift my father had given me from the Jackal, but the brooch was so primitive that it must look as poor a belonging as any slave owns. 

Finally I let my hand fall. I said flatly, "All right. It's obvious enough what I am. If you want to send me back to my master, there are soldiers searching the city for me now; all you need do is shout, and any one of them could hear you. But if not—" My voice shook, and I had to begin again in a whisper. "If not, could you please answer my question? My life's in danger, and I have no one to help me." 

The bard's song ended. There was a pause, and then muffled cheers and clapping crept into the silence of the room. The boy stood mutely, with no movement to reveal his thoughts on what I had said. Then he took a step forward, as stiffly as a soldier ordered out of a line of review. This brought him half into the light, and he stopped again quickly. There was another moment of silence before he said softly, "My name is Perry; I'm a Koretian. I'll help you if I can." 

"But—" I bit away my remaining words and stared at his face. Only the right side of his face had emerged from the darkness, but this alone was enough to dumb my protests. He had the sort of face that bards sing of: a smooth, curving cheekbone; skin the color of sun-warmed earth; broad lips slightly parted to reveal the petal-white teeth underneath; a long-lashed eyelid slightly cast down to hide the expression of the dark eye underneath; and hair that purled around the side of his face before making its rest at the shoulder. 

The face was unflawed but for a few wrinkles around the eye. These revealed that I had misread my listener's age; a second hasty calculation led me to conclude that he was not much younger than myself. His voice was as hesitant as that of a boy, but his two short sentences had been spoken in the deep voice of a man. His voice puzzled me, for he had spoken without a trace of a Koretian accent, but I was worried by a greater matter than that. The man's single step into moonlight had revealed that he wore a sword at his side. 

My hands curled into fists. I had to remind myself forcefully that this man might be of noble blood and therefore entitled to wear a sword for that reason alone. Or perhaps he was simply a retired soldier. But I could not help but remember the lieutenant's soft words of instruction, and I felt one of my feet begin to creep backwards in preparation for flight. 

The only thing which kept me from running was the knowledge that I had nowhere to go. For this reason also, I answered politely, "I was looking for those two Koretians in particular." 

The man's eye – the one eye I could see – remained cast down, hiding his thoughts. The other eye was hidden in the shadow covering the left half of his face. I could not even see any bit of moonlight catching on it. With his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, the man asked softly, "Did Andrew tell you to come here?" 

At first, I felt only relief, and I opened my mouth to reply. But then a voice drifted into my mind: Andrew saying, "If anyone in the palace knows that I have been here, I may lose my life." 

And I had helped Andrew to escape. If, for some reason, Andrew was one of the Prince's enemies, if the Prince suspected that the escaped spy was Andrew, if the Prince thought I knew the identity of the escaped spy, and he planned to use this opportunity to trick me into revealing Andrew's identity to one of his soldiers . . . 

I still could not read the look in the man's eye. He continued to stand half in darkness, and I wondered what was keeping him at that end of the room. Another soldier, perhaps, hidden in the blackness and ready to help subdue me should the lure not work? Fear momentarily pounded away my common sense, and I heard myself cry, "Why are you standing in the dark like that?" 

The man's hand tightened harder on his sword hilt. I could sense him gathering together energy for some great action. And then, just as before, he took one step forward. The step brought him entirely into the light. I felt the impact like a bodily blow. 

Standing before me was a demon.


	8. Chapter 8

A demon. That was all that my numbed mind could think as I gaped at him. The beauty of the right side of the man's face was matched by the monstrosity of the left side of his face. The right half of the face was smooth and curved gently; the left half of the face was pitted and broken. The skin on the right half was the color of warm honey; the skin on the left half was unrelentingly pink. The right side of the mouth was surrounded by soft lips; the left side of the mouth was a ghastly, lipless cleft in the skin. The right eye was bright with life; the left eye was gone. Only a hollow pit showed where it had been. 

I opened my mouth again – to scream or to cry or to call for help, I don't know which. But at that moment, the slightest of movements caught my attention. It was the man's eyelid, lowering yet further so that his eye was now hidden entirely from my view. And yet, with that one gesture, I suddenly guessed what expression was in the eye I had failed to read: it was fear. 

I saw the man's throat shift as he swallowed; his left hand had crept behind his back, and his left foot, like mine, was touching the floor behind him in preparation for sudden flight. Quickly and softly, in the sort of voice I would use toward a frightened child, I said, "Are you a spy too?" 

Somehow, the Spirit had guided me to the right words. The man named Perry raised his eye quickly to look at me. Then he lowered his eye shyly once more, giving a faint smile as he said, "Not like Andrew. I'm not good at spying like him." 

There was something particularly grotesque about his smile, which was light and charming on one side of his face, and black and hideous on the other side. I had to lower my own eyes to regain my composure. When I looked up again, I saw that Perry was sitting in the corner of the storeroom – not the dark corner, but the one opposite it. The left side of his face was hidden against the wall. I surmised that he had chosen this position deliberately. I therefore walked over until I was several spear-lengths away from him, pulled off my harp case so that I could set it in my lap, and sat down slightly to the side, so that I would not be able to see the mutilated half of his face. 

He watched me warily out of the edge of his eye, like a wild animal that will bolt if you move too suddenly. His knees were upraised and his hands were clasped around his legs; I could see from this that his left hand was also blackened and gnarled, but this seemed to be the only other part of his body that was abnormal. Uncertain of what to say to this shy man, I asked, "Is Andrew a good spy?" 

"He's the best of them all," said Perry with a prompt candor I would not have expected from one of the Jackal's thieves. "He's better than anyone – except the Jackal, of course. Andrew is the one who trained me. He's my friend," he concluded ingenuously. 

His soft, artless words contrasted sharply with his voice, for its hesitancy was overlaid with the sort of crystal hardness one hears in worldly-wise men. It was as odd a juxtaposition as Perry's face, and it puzzled me considerably. Leaving my thoughts unspoken, I said, "I hadn't realized that the Jackal was a spy." 

His smile turned brilliant as a flame, and I realized that I had unwittingly raised one of his favorite topics. "He's the trickiest spy in the world," Perry replied. "When he was running the rebellion, the Emorians went mad trying to figure out who the Jackal was. Yet he lived right in the capital city, in plain view of everyone. They never would have guessed who he was; he was too clever for them. Even the Chara Peter didn't guess his secret identity when they first met. It wasn't until the Jackal took off his mask that the Chara realized—" 

It was clear that this spy was prepared to talk until dawn about the virtues of his ruler. My mind, though, was on the soldiers who were still searching for me. I interrupted Perry's ballad, saying, "Is it true that the Jackal allows escaped slaves to live freely in Koretia?" 

Perry reacted to my interruption by pulling his legs closer to his body, but he nodded and said, "The Jackal thinks it's wrong to have slaves. He says that all men are free-men in the eyes of the gods." He added reflectively, "I think that the Jackal especially dislikes slavery because of how Andrew was treated as a slave." 

I was encouraged by this revelation that the Koretian ruler was a kind enough master to show concern for one of his spies. Perry gave me another of his sidelong looks and asked in a tentative voice, "How did you meet Andrew?" 

"I'm a slave at the King's palace," I said. "I met Andrew six years ago, when he was imprisoned in the dungeon." 

Perry turned his head then, and I had to force myself not to flinch at the sight of his broken face. "Are you the one who helped him escape?" he asked. 

"He told you about that?" 

Perry shook his head. "He didn't tell me who helped him. I suppose that he didn't because—" He stopped, and his head moved swiftly back to where it had been before, half hidden from my sight. After a moment he said, "I only saw him for a short while after he came back from Daxis. After that, he and the Jackal went up to the gods' house to talk about a mission Andrew was going to undertake to Emor that autumn. I suppose he told the Jackal the full story." Slowly, with the pace of a caterpillar crawling across a leaf, he turned his head toward me again. "You said that you're in danger?" 

I hesitated, not sure of how much information to entrust to this spy whom I knew so little about. In the end, though, I gave him the bare bones of the story: who I was, that my father was trying to force me into a marriage with the Prince, that the Prince planned to threaten my life unless I acquiesced to the marriage, and finally, mindful of my new obligations to the Jackal, that the Daxion army was about to attack Koretia. 

Perry listened to my recital in silence, with his chin resting upon his knees. I concluded by asking tentatively, "If you go back to Koretia to tell the Jackal about the attack, can you take me with you?" 

Perry trod mercilessly upon my blooming hopes by giving a quick shake of his head. "I can't take you back the way that I came," he said. "I entered this land through a tunnel that's very narrow. I can barely squeeze through it myself. I'm not sure that you could manage it." 

I glanced at his youth-slim body and stilled my song of protest. I only said, "Then will you tell Andrew what has happened? Perhaps he could find a way to help me." 

"Andrew is on a mission to Emor right now," Perry replied. "He won't be returning until next month. But I'll tell the Jackal about you." 

This news dragged down my spirits. I remembered that, when the Jackal had invited me to visit him six years before, Richard had predicted that the Jackal would quickly lose interest in me. Now I was daughter to the Jackal's war enemy; there was no reason for the Koretian ruler to want to help me. But even as I was thinking this, Perry was saying slowly, "I think . . . I think maybe the Jackal knew that I would meet you. He might not know that you're in danger, but perhaps he knew that we would meet this way." 

"Why do you say that?" I asked with surprise. 

Perry reached down to fidget with his boot clasp. His voice, as beautiful as a dawn bird's song, was low as he said, "Andrew sent the Jackal a message from Emor. He only does that in emergencies because there's always a chance that his letter will be intercepted. He said that he had been gathering information about the High Lord of Emor, and that in the process of his investigation he spoke with one of Lord Carle's servants. The Jackal didn't read me the letter, but he said that there was something in it about Daxis. When the Jackal received the letter, he went to the gods' house, which is the place up on the mountain where he goes when he wants to decide something using his—" Perry peered toward me with the edge of his eye. "Using his godly powers. And after he came back, he said that I must go to Daxis before Andrew returned. I've never been to Daxis before. We've been planning this mission for a long time, but we always thought that I'd come here with Andrew. I haven't done a mission on my own before, and I wasn't sure that I could do it by myself, but the Jackal said I must go alone, so I did." 

"So you think that he predicted you'd meet someone who would give you important information?" I said. 

Perry bit his lip and said nothing more. I did not press him, for I was wondering whether the Jackal would consider my warning about the attack valuable enough to take the trouble to help me. The description I had been given of the Jackal by my father did not encourage me to believe that the Jackal was in any way a tender-hearted man. Surely, on the eve of war, the ruler would have other matters on his mind. 

It was clear from Perry's expression that he was uncomfortable discussing this subject, so I switched the topic quickly, saying, "I'm surprised to learn that you haven't been to Daxis before; your accent is perfect. How long have you known our language?" 

"A week." 

My silence filled the room like smoke. Perry turned his head to look toward me again as he said, "The Jackal knows Daxion, but he wanted my accent to be right, so he hired a Daxion merchant. The merchant spent a week reading to me from _The Chronicle of the Spirit and Her Voices_. It's a very long book, with lots of words. After each sentence, he'd translate what he'd read into Koretian. So by the end of the book, I knew Daxion." 

I must have been gaping by this time. At any rate, a laugh suddenly burst out of Perry that was as buoyant and sparkling as the water from a sun-touched fountain. The right side of his mouth grew relaxed with mirth, and while the left side of his face held only an ugly grimace, I was distracted from it by the shimmering of amusement in his one eye. 

"That's my only talent as a spy," he said. "I can remember things. If Andrew finds an important document while he's spying, all that he has to do is read the contents to me, and I'll remember. Andrew doesn't have to write anything down, so if he's searched, there will be no papers to show what he has been doing." 

"But an entire language . . . How do you remember all of that? Do you have some trick that helps you?" 

Perry shrugged. "I remember everything, whether I try to or not. I remember what happened to me decades ago as clearly as I remember what you said just now. I never forget anything." 

"What happened thirty years ago?" I asked with a smile. 

With the speed of a hunting bird falling upon its prey, Perry reacted to my jocular remark by jerking his head back to its earlier position, tightening his arms around his legs, and staring with lowered eyes at the floor. After a moment in which I was too startled to speak, he said, "Exactly thirty years ago, as of this day— I don't remember that. I was too young then. Twenty years ago today, I am memorizing— I was memorizing some information that the Jackal was using in his rebellion. Ten years ago today, Andrew was teaching me swordplay. Five years ago today, the Jackal was giving instructions to all of us thieves on what to do if war broke out between Koretia and Emor. Five days ago, the Jackal had me recite back to him what he had said then, since he was making plans for what to do if Daxis attacked us." 

"Spirit of Merciful Peace," I said reverently. "You must know a lot of songs." 

The lines of laughter on Perry's face collapsed, leaving only a taut expression such as a soldier might wear if he were suddenly attacked. "What?" Perry whispered. 

"You must know a lot of songs," I repeated, trying to disperse whatever misunderstanding had taken place. "Every bard in this land would love to have a memory like yours. It took me months to learn the Tale of the Song Twins, and I had to sing it over and over to myself." 

Perry did not turn his head away, but I saw him swallow hard, and I realized that my words had not reassured him in any way. After a while, he said in a low voice, "I don't know any songs." 

How very strange, I thought. Here again was the same fear of music I had encountered in Andrew. Was every Koretian this way? How could such a people bear to exist without the Spirit's peace in their lives? I opened my mouth, and Perry added swiftly, "You don't have to sing me that song." 

"I wasn't planning to," I said, trying to keep the puzzlement out of my voice. "It would take me a long time to do so anyway." 

A flame of pain went through my neck as I tilted my head back to look at Perry, who had suddenly arisen. For a moment, I thought that I had offended him in some way. Then I realized that my mention of time must had reminded him of his duty to return to Koretia quickly. He said, "I had better go now, if I'm to reach the Jackal's palace by dawn. I'll tell the Jackal that you're here." 

"Will I be safe here?" I asked, rising onto my sleep-bound feet, the harp case in my arms. 

Perry nodded as he passed me on his way to his satchel and cloak. "One of the Jackal's thieves helped stop a fight that took place in this inn some years ago, so the innkeeper lets any of us stay in this room for free whenever we visit. The innkeeper thinks we're just ordinary traders, but it means that we can slip out at night without anyone noticing. Probably, no one will even know that you are here." 

He was rummaging in the leather satchel as he spoke. He pulled out a small flask and something wrapped in a cloth. Placing the items carefully on the ground, he said, "I'll leave you what I have to eat and drink – it isn't much. I was going to pack more, but the Jackal said that I wouldn't need it." 

I smiled. "Well, he knew you were going to be staying at an inn. If you wanted a meal, all that you'd have to do is walk into the singing hall and ask for one." 

Perry made no reply. He was busy struggling into his thread-worn cloak and had turned his back on me. I came up beside him quietly, and was on the point of touching his elbow when he jerked away suddenly and turned to face me. He took several steps backwards, and then halted with visible effort; his face looked strained. 

I stayed where I was, uncertain of what was bothering the spy. Perhaps, I thought, he was simply shy around women. He looked old enough to have been married for ten years or more, but it might have been difficult for him to find a woman who could bear his appearance. I said quietly, "I just wanted to thank you for listening to my song of distress. It was kind of you to offer to help me even before you knew who I was." 

Perry was silent. The night-songs from the inn and elsewhere had died away while we were talking; now the room was filled only with the mute light of the moon. The left half of Perry's face was in the light; the shadows cast upon the broken surface of the skin were as ugly as scars, yet I was less aware of them now than of Perry's single eye, gazing at me with the same fear with which he had watched me when I first entered the room. After a minute, he gave a small nod and began to back away; evidently he did not wish to trust me by turning his back on me again. He reached the door, where he would have no choice but to turn around. I therefore backed away as well, to the far corner of the room. He stood motionless for a moment longer, and I thought he must be judging how long it would take me to walk forward to him again. Then, as I watched, he pulled off his cloak, folded it into a neat pile, and placed it gently on the ground. 

"You might get cold," he said softly. He turned and swiftly left the storeroom, leaving me with the food and the drink and the warm, frayed cloak.


	9. Chapter 9

I waited and waited, but no one came. 

I could not sleep that first night; thoughts of being discovered kept me awake. If I had been hidden in a private house, I would have been safe, but I knew that the King's soldiers had the right to search a public building such as the inn. And even if the soldiers did not come, there was a chance that the innkeeper might suddenly decide to fetch one of his dust-laden bowls from this room. I did not think I could pretend that I was one of Andrew's trader friends. 

I went into the courtyard twice: once at dawn, when I listened to the early morning sound of the birds and the servants singing their sleepy way to their chores, and again at dusk the following evening, when I discovered to my distress that the mist had dissipated and that any further fleeing I did must take place without the cover of the Spirit's breath. 

Discouraged, I went back into the storeroom and curled up beneath Perry's cloak, willing myself to sleep and trying to convince myself that the Jackal, amidst all his war plans, would send a spy to rescue me. When I finally slept, I found my sleep troubled with images of Perry and of Andrew, of music and of fire, and of some wordless command being given to me. But what it all meant I could not understand, even in the midst of my dream. 

o—o—o

It may be that I would have remembered the dream when I awoke. But no sooner had I opened my eyes than a hand clamped down, heavy over my mouth. 

It was one of the King's soldiers; I could see the sword in his right hand. He had no need to point it my way, for in the same instant that he smothered my scream, he pinned my upper body to the floor by kneeling one leg on me. My gaze rose from his grey uniform to the cold eyes looking down upon me. Apparently sure now that I would not resist him, he released me and rose to stand a spear-length's distance from me. His hand was tight upon his sword. 

I pulled myself to my feet, allowing the cloak to slip away; I could feel myself trembling. The soldier reached under his own cloak with his left hand, but he did not speak as he looked me over. 

"Well?" I whispered. 

"You are my prisoner." The grim words were said in a voice as toneless as a death song; his eyes were darkly dangerous. His left hand re-emerged from the folds of his cloak; in it dangled a rope. 

"Again?" 

He came forward then to stand beside me. "At least I warned you this time. Take this." He held out his sword to me. 

I took the hilt from Andrew's hand. "Every time I meet you, you scare me." 

"It's hard for me to play two roles at once. For now, you'll have to accept me as the ruthless spy. Cross your hands behind you." 

As he spoke, he slid my harp case onto one shoulder, then placed his cloak over both my shoulders. I looked up at his face, still as stone, and crossed my hands behind my back. The sword remained in my hand. 

He tied my hands in a convincingly authentic manner, took the sword from me, and said in a low voice, "We must move fast; the Prince is on our track. Two things I need for you to do: remain silent, and do as I tell you, the moment I tell you. Otherwise, neither of us is likely to live long." He jerked the cloak hood over my head. "Keep your head low. Try to look as dejected as you would if I were placing you in the hands of the Prince." 

I was concentrating so hard on this task that I barely noticed as we left the courtyard of the inn. As we stepped onto the street, I felt Andrew place the edge of his sword against my body; this was all a nightmarish replaying of six years before. But this time it was not Andrew's action that caused my heart to beat. 

We stepped quickly and steadily through the dark streets. Occasionally we passed other soldiers, but they took no interest in us. Andrew, I saw, was taking us in the direction of the palace; it was easy for me to imagine that I would end up within its walls. Then I saw where we were headed, and I shrank back against Andrew. 

He said nothing, simply gripped me tighter and marched me up to the gate of the palace wall. At the gate, the guards hailed him, but he did not say anything to their challenge, so that one of the guards was forced to come close to him. 

"A prisoner for Subcaptain Derek," Andrew murmured. 

The guard attempted to see my face, had no success, and said, "Very well, then. Go on through." 

Andrew marched me briskly through the grounds I had left the previous evening, aiming unerringly for the back of the palace, where the Prince had his hut. We passed by the army stables and the few tents that had not been taken down when the vanguard left the palace grounds. Keeping my eyes on the mud that was darkening my feet, I tried to still the growing uneasiness in my mind. When I looked up again, I saw that we were actually skirting the edge of the army headquarters, heading toward the northern portion of the outer wall, the portion closest to Koretia. 

After a while we had ventured beyond the headquarters and were crossing into the forest through which the Prince and I had ridden our horses a few days before. The wall was still far from our sight. 

All in a moment, Andrew whirled, thrust me behind him, and stood with his sword in readiness against the soldier who had trailed us out of the headquarters. There was a silence as the two men met eyes; with a shock I recognized the man facing us as Derek's lieutenant. 

I had forgotten Andrew's instructions and had allowed the hood to fall back from my face. The lieutenant's eyes flicked my way; then he said smoothly to Andrew, "So this is your mission in Daxis. I might have guessed. It is a pleasure to meet you again, Koretian." 

"The pleasure is mine," said Andrew, his voice as cold as long-buried bones. "I believe that we have an unfinished conversation." He lunged at the lieutenant with his sword. 

I drew hastily out of the way as the two swords met with a clash. Much as I was interested in seeing how Andrew fought, I was more interested in finding a way to shorten the swordplay. The longer that we were here, the more likely it was that the subcaptain and the rest of his men would find us. I waited until the lieutenant's back was against a tree; then I took the primitive step of whirling with a gasp to stare at something behind the lieutenant. 

Perhaps the lieutenant was not used to such simple devices, or perhaps he was helped by Andrew suddenly stilling his sword. At any rate, the lieutenant began to turn his head, then checked himself. 

It was too late. In the next moment, Andrew had brought his blade down hard on the lieutenant's sword arm. 

There was a suppressed cry from the lieutenant; his sword dropped. Andrew's sword tip was already pointed against the lieutenant's throat. Andrew said tersely, "Where is your subcaptain?" 

Breathing heavily, the lieutenant spoke not a word. Andrew told him, "Sing to the Spirit quickly. —Turn away." 

This last remark was addressed to me. I stared at the two men for a moment longer, the lieutenant with his look of determined silence, Andrew with his hard face, and then turned. I heard Andrew whisper something – it was in Koretian – and then there was a sound between a moan and a grunt. 

Something bit at my wrist; it was Andrew's sword nicking me as he cut my bonds. "Quickly!" he hissed, and he took my hand and pulled me beyond the body lying still on the ground. 

We ran rapidly through the woods until I could see through a gap that we were near the meadow in front of the wall. Andrew slowed as we approached the edge of the woods, and gradually we came to a halt. I could hear nothing, not even the sound of the army headquarters behind us. 

Andrew whispered, "This man is a master. He must be kin to the Jackal." Moving slowly, he turned toward me and guided me backwards against a tree. Then he pressed his body up against mine. 

He moved his head forward so that his lips were against my ear, and whispered, "There is only one other reason that a soldier would be this far away from the palace with a woman. Let us try to be convincing." 

Shifting my harp case so that it would not be in the way, I placed my arms around him and buried my head in the hollow of his shoulder. His heart was beating faster than mine, the first indication I had received that he was as scared as I was. I felt his body relaxing warm against mine, and I tensed. 

He whispered, "You're too stiff. He's watching, and he can read your pose. Try to pretend that I'm a man whom you have desired for a long time." 

Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been hard enough; here, with a corpse nearby and the subcaptain even nearer, I felt myself grow more rigid. For a while longer, Andrew was silent. Then he murmured, "I wish that the circumstances did not force us to take on such a role; it is a difficult one for me to master. Or perhaps I should say that it is difficult for me to master myself." 

I stood very still. His finger was running down the side of my neck. He whispered, "I knew when I first saw you that our fates were linked. Years ago I had a dream I have never been able to remember. It involved music, and a woman whom I met in a dark place. You were that woman; I recognized you at once. The gods meant for us to meet." The stroking finger withdrew, and I felt his lips touch my neck. 

A sound escaped me, though whether it was of pleasure or protest I was not sure. Nor could I tell whether my body was stiff or relaxed, or whether the subcaptain was watching or not. All my awareness was concentrated on the feel of Andrew's mouth against my body. 

For a minute longer, Andrew held his pose. Then he pulled back slightly, and I saw once more his cold eyes. 

I felt a shock go through my flesh then, as though Andrew had sliced me open with his blade. I stared open-mouthed at him as the limbs of his body grew stiff above mine. He said in a low and dispassionate voice, "Well done. But he may still be watching us from a distance. Let us have a long lovers' chat until we are sure that our romancing has dulled the subcaptain's interest." He pulled his body back from mine but remained leaning over me, his arm propped against the tree. 

I said shakily, "Did the Jackal teach you that?" 

"It is a difficult technique to teach, though one of the other thieves is skilled in the subject. He told me that his best seductions were conducted under conditions where he feared for his life. This is the first time I have actually put his advice to the test." His voice remained in the same formal tones he had adopted from the moment he set out to deceive me. 

"I don't see why the subcaptain would be fooled by such an act." I felt myself growing flushed, thinking of the one person who had been fooled. "All that he needs to do is come up to us and see who I am." 

"The subcaptain will not be eager for anyone to know that he is out searching tonight, not if the Prince has nefarious plans for you. As for why he would be fooled by this act . . . Well, the lieutenant will have already reported my presence in this land to the subcaptain, and Derek will have guessed by now who I am and why I am here. My reputation is notorious. The subcaptain knows that I do not make love to women, either while working or while at my leisure." 

I was silent for a while before asking, "Did you really dream about me?" 

"I am not a bard who can construct fanciful stories at a moment's notice. I really dreamed about you, though I am not sure what the dream meant. I could have been dreaming that you would be my death." 

His expression was hard as he spoke. I think that it would have remained that way had I shown any fear. As it was, his face suddenly turned uncertain, and he asked, "How is it that you can witness all this and continue to appear calm?" 

I suppose that he had witnessed hard things as a slave, but he had not been a royal bastard, given access to all the cruelties of the palace. For years I had seen slaves flogged, soldiers maimed in swordplay, criminals hanged, and once even a prisoner being tortured. And always, during the past six years, there had been the knowledge that, if the Prince's fancy changed, I might meet my death at any moment. 

I said, "I must be well trained." 

"Too well trained. Take care that your mask of indifference doesn't become a permanent feature of your face." His tongue had turned colloquial again; I was beginning to sense how he used formal language as a way to distance himself from other people at certain moments. It was a technique I knew well, from having it used it myself against the Prince. 

"Do you think that I would allow that to happen?" 

"It could happen without your meaning for it to occur." 

His words were soft and his eyes unguarded, but his expression was as passionless as it had been when I first met him. I stared a moment longer at the lines of his face, immovable as rock, before I said, "I thought that you were that way because spies must keep their thoughts hidden." 

"It comes in useful with my work." He turned abruptly away, walked over to a large tree at the edge of the forest, and pressed himself against the tree-moss. I thought at first that he was motionless; then I saw that he was moving, as slowly as the moon across the sky, until he was peering round the tree trunk. What he saw apparently reassured him. He beckoned toward me. As I joined him, he had me take his place. 

I followed the gesture of his hand. With some difficulty, I caught sight of the faintest glimmer of movement further along the forest edge. 

"Derek," said Andrew. "No longer watching us; he's watching the wall." 

"His men could be watching us." 

"I don't think so; I encountered several of them in the city. The lieutenant was on the point of searching the inn; I had to lure him away with a fight. After that, I wasn't sure how long we had before the subcaptain would find us." 

I began to ask him how he had recognized Derek's men, decided that this was a foolish question to ask one of the Jackal's thieves, and asked instead, "What did you say to the lieutenant before you killed him?" 

"Something the Jackal taught me," Andrew replied quietly. "It's a blessing that Koretian priests give to those who are about to die." 

I looked back at him. His gaze was rigidly fixed on the subcaptain, and his right hand was clenched around his sword hilt, but his left hand was light upon my shoulder. After our conversation in the hidden passage, I had thought that I knew him, but still he remained a mystery to me. 

"Perry said that you are nearly as skilled a spy as the Jackal," I said. 

"Perry is kind, but I wish that the Jackal were here rather than me. Even if we get beyond the wall, it may take a god-man's power for us to breach the border. Right now the Prince is less worried about Koretian soldiers crossing the border than about spies leaving this land with military information. I had some trouble entering Daxis. Leaving it will be even harder." 

"How did you get here?" 

"Through the cave, where the boundaries are so uncertain that it is no surprise to the Daxion soldiers there if one of their kind suddenly appears from what is supposed to be Koretian territory. But we can't take the same route back." 

"Which way will we go, then?" I asked. "Over the mountain?" 

"Not on a dark night like this." He glanced up at the moon, which was hidden by clouds every few minutes. "If the soldiers patrolling there didn't find us, we'd be likely to break our necks on the climb. No, we will have to go round the mountain. Not to the Eastern Gap; the Prince is there with the King's army. We'll leave by way of the Western Gap." 

I searched my mind for long-forgotten lessons in geography from my father. I remembered that, together, Daxis and Koretia made up the southern portion of a peninsula that included Emor. Koretia was the shape of a small triangle poised on one tip; it was hugged on its northern border by Emor, on its eastern border by the Koretian Straits, and on its western border and southern tip by Daxis. It was ringed on all sides by mountains, which was why Emor had undergone such difficulty invading it during the Border Wars. The only easy way to enter Koretia from southern Daxis was by going around the mountain in front of us, which bordered the tip of Koretia: on both sides were passes in the mountain range. 

"We could try making it through the mountains between Daxis and western Koretia," I suggested. 

"We don't have time for that. The longer we remain in Daxis, the more likely it is that the subcaptain will find us. Once we are over the border, we'll be safe; the Prince dare not allow his soldiers into Koretia at this point, as it might cause Koretia to attack first. His plans depend on his making the initial attack." 

"Do you think—" I cut off my words as Andrew's light hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. 

He was still watching the glimmer of movement that was the subcaptain. I could tell nothing from what I saw, but Andrew said in a low voice, "One of Derek's men joining him – very excited. At a guess, he has found the lieutenant's body. Now, if the subcaptain has any loyalty toward his men, he will go to see the body himself." 

I gave up trying to read the scene of black figures moving against dark brown trees; instead, I looked up at Andrew. The faintest of smiles smudged his face. Without looking my way, he said, "Do you see the patch of ivy along the wall? A tunnel lies there; that is the way out for us." 

"No tunnel lay there two days ago. I saw the Prince check the wall." 

"I dug it tonight; that's why I was delayed in reaching you. Derek must be a man of keen instincts to have found it so quickly. I hope that I never meet up with him again. Are you ready?" 

I had no chance to nod. The next moment, Andrew had placed his arm around my waist and was thrusting me forward, out of the woods. We ran the short distance to the wall; then I dived head-first into the tunnel. 

It was a tight squeeze with the harp case still at my side, and the tunnel was long. By the time I reached the other end, my body was scraped and bruised. I crouched down and waited. After an agonizing delay, Andrew emerged, his face black with dirt. 

Again he took no time for speech, simply grabbed my hand and began running up the mountainside. Several minutes later, we reached a rocky overhang that sheltered us from view, and there we halted. Or rather, Andrew halted; I simply collapsed, my hands clutching my sides. 

It took even Andrew a while to catch his breath. Then he said in his normal, clipped voice, "No sign of the subcaptain when I looked back. With luck, he'll think that I killed the lieutenant earlier and that we're already beyond his reach. In any case, it's a long distance between here and the Western Gap; we can't run the whole way. So let us take a brisk but steady walk toward your new home. To while away the time, you can give me the full story of what led to your fleeing the Prince." 

I shook my head as he adjusted my harp case so that it was once more against my back, then offered me his arm escort-style. "First explain why you're here," I said. "Perry said that you were spying in Emor." 

"I got caught; a quick end to my mission. Fortunately, I didn't end up in a dungeon this time, but it's embarrassing that our meetings come only when I'm being incompetent at my work." 

His words released the tension I had been feeling for a full day. I muffled my laughter against his shoulder, only withdrawing when I felt his muscles tense under my mouth. 

As we picked our way across the mountainside, toward the dirt path that runs from the city to the border, I said, "So Perry told you that he'd met me?" 

"Yes, though we nearly missed each other. The Jackal was on the point of sending me to the Eastern Gap to see whether the King's army is ever going to attack, or whether it plans to sit at the border till winter." 

"It hasn't attacked yet?" I said with surprise. I was following him blindly, since I was barely able to see the uneven mountainside in the dusky dark. By contrast, Andrew was not even looking down at the ground. 

"No, the reports we have are that a royal messenger was sent from the palace to the Prince, shortly before the vanguard reached the border. Based on the past, I'd guess that the King is having second thoughts about whether to attack." 

I began to curse my father softly and then remembered too late that I was seeking refuge in Koretia. When I looked up at Andrew, though, he did not glance my way, but simply said, "You haven't told your story." 

By the time I had finished the tale, I could tell from the sky that we had made our way to the western side of the mountain. Andrew was silent for a while. Then said, "The Song of Succession. That's the one you told me about, which determines the law of succession?" 

"Yes. This must be a forbidden version of the song, one that gives more information about the Consort." 

"The Consort," Andrew murmured. "Is she important in Daxion law?" 

"Yes, of course." I looked at Andrew with surprise. At that moment the moon went under a cloud, and I stumbled on the dirt path we were following. Andrew reached out to steady me, but I shook my head, and he let his hand fall. I said, "The Consort helps the King with his judgments, you know." 

"I didn't know. You mean that the King actually consults her on high matters?" 

"Well, naturally." Again, I looked over at Andrew with puzzlement. "How could a husband not share with his wife the things that matter to him most?" 

"The Chara doesn't," Andrew said shortly. "He's forbidden by law from speaking of high matters to his Consort." 

I tried to read his expression, but the moon had gone under a cloud once more, and I was having trouble even seeing the landscape before me. "In Daxis, the Consort is expected to advise the King; the Spirit speaks to her as well as to the King and his Bard. That much everyone knows, for it's in the Song of Succession." 

"Well," said Andrew, "if the Consort has some secret power which only the King knows about, that would explain why the King was eager to have you marry the Prince." 

"I couldn't be the Prince's Consort unless I was married to him under the law, with a witness. And in any case, why would the Prince be eager to marry me? He wouldn't want me to gain powers I don't already have." 

I would have said more, but we rounded a corner, and Andrew checked me with his hand. The path moved to the right abruptly to make way for a tall wall of rock. Andrew went over to the edge of the rock; as he had done in the palace forest, he slowly moved his head until he was peering around the edge. Then he did the same in reverse and gestured me forward. 

"Wait till that cloud goes over the moon," he said in a low voice. "Then look ahead." 

I complied and found that the cloud's shadow covered only our part of the mountain. Further along the mountainside was a moonlit pass several yards long, guarded by four soldiers, two facing south, two facing north. One pair was on the east end of the gap, the other on the west end. Beyond the rocks, the land dipped abruptly into a ditch and then rose once more into wooded terrain. 

"Koretia," said Andrew in my ear. "The ditch is the boundary marker between the two lands. The Koretian border guards are further along the mountainside, but they won't stop you. Perry is waiting in the woods to help you, though I doubt that the soldiers will cross the border. —Stay still." This, as the dim moonlight fell upon me once more. "The soldiers won't notice you up here unless you move, so wait for another cloud to come. We'll wait for cloud cover to send you across; then there will be some hope of your not being seen." 

"Aren't you coming as well?" 

"Eventually, but first I'll need to distract the guards so that they leave their posts. Afterwards, I'll join you and Perry." 

Darkness enveloped us, so I moved back and looked at Andrew. I could see nothing of the expression in his eyes. "How do you plan to distract them?" 

"By a method so crude that I am too embarrassed to reveal it; doing so would add disharmony to the ballad which Perry has been singing you of my skills as a spy. In any case, all that you must do is run fast. Judging from our escape from the palace grounds, I need have no fears there." 

The moonlight flooded down upon us, and Andrew immediately shifted his gaze away. That, and his sudden switch to formal speech, told me more than his eyes would have. I said, "Four against one sounds like poor odds to me." 

Andrew's gaze flashed up toward mine. His expression remained detached at first; then he smiled and said, "Serva, you'll have to stop doing that. Only the Jackal is allowed to read my thoughts." 

"It doesn't require the power of a god to tell what you're planning. Have you ever fought four men at once?" 

"Never successfully, but I have the advantage in this case of not being forced to fight to the death. Once you've safely reached Koretia, I will further besmirch my reputation by turning tail and fleeing, so please, please do not delay my flight by turning to look back before you reach Perry. My life depends on your being as quick as possible. This seems the moment to confess that I am, when facing my death shadow, a complete coward." 

He continued to smile as he spoke these words. I matched his smile with my own. I was not fooled by what he said. Whether or not he feared death – and I knew of no man who did not – it was not fear for his life which prompted him to say these words but the fear that I would turn back and try to assist him if he was in trouble. So I said, "When I asked for your help, I knew that I'd be putting you in danger. There's no point in my now saying that I wish you to take no risks on my behalf. If this is something you wish to do for me, then all I can do is thank you, pray to the Spirit for your safety, and hope that I may some day give you in return a gift as great as the one you are giving me tonight." 

"You already gave me my life," said Andrew softly. "Whenever I can, I pay my debts."


	10. Chapter 10

A short time later, we stood hidden behind a rocky ledge, only spear-lengths from one pair of the soldiers. 

"I'll try to lure that pair away from their post," Andrew had told me further back. "You will have to make your way through the pass and the ditch in near blackness. I hope you have a memory as good as Perry's, because you'll need to trace the path in your mind, and then run blindly." 

"Why don't the soldiers carry lights? Others could do what we are doing." 

"Because you Daxions have taught the Koretians a few lessons in archery, and the most effective way to cross the border is to shoot arrows into torchlit guards. Not on a night like this, however; the light is too uncertain to allow for archery, and that probably gives the soldiers an undue sense of security. I hope so, anyway. I have no great confidence in my skill at this game." 

Now, as we crouched in waiting for the moon to cloud over, I thought that if anyone's skill was likely to falter, it was my own. It had taken us an hour to duck down the short distance between the place where we had held our conversation and the ledge where we now hid. Throughout that time I had been the one to stumble or slow or move at the wrong moment. Now all depended on my remembering a path and running through it in the dark. 

Andrew touched my wrist. I knew that he was asking me whether I was ready, and I nodded. I looked up and saw that a cloud had nearly reached the moon. 

Andrew breathed into my ear words I barely could hear. "May the Spirit guide you with her song. I'll see you beyond the boundary marker." 

A chill went through me as I remembered where I had heard these words before. But there was no time to regret my decision to accept Andrew's help; at that moment, we passed into darkness. 

I barely felt Andrew leave. It was only moments before one of the soldiers shouted a challenge. He may not have been able to see Andrew, but he had heard him. There was a clash of metal, I counted to five as Andrew had instructed me, and then I ran. 

I ran straight into one of the rocks, but this served to tell me I had reached one of the guard-posts. Since no hand reached out to grab me, I stumbled down the slope of the ditch, still burdened by the weight of the harp. Half my mind was on the feel of the grass below me, the other half on the sounds of shouting and clashing in the place I had just left. There was far more shouting than I would have expected, then far less shouting; Andrew must have rid himself of three of the guards, for the sword-clatter settled into the rhythm of one man fighting another. 

The moon reappeared too soon. I was clambering up the Koretian side of the ditch, but I minded Andrew's words and did not look back. Grasping hunks of grass and crawling on my knees proved the most effective manner of climbing the slope. By the time I reached the woods above, I was gasping from the effort. I caught a brief glimpse of Perry, coming forward out of the woods. Then I turned to look back. 

The scene before me was bathed in light. I felt darkness come upon me. 

Not four but a dozen Daxion soldiers stood at the border now. None of them were dead; all but one were standing silently, watching a duel take place between Andrew and a single soldier who had his back to me. 

The scene passed into darkness. I could hear the clatter of swords, dimmed by the distance of the ditch, but no shouts, not even from the surrounding soldiers. It was an eerie, deathlike silence. I heard Perry breathing heavily beside me. I guessed that, if it were not for me, he would be across the ditch in an instant. 

Then light flooded down upon the entire scene around us: me, Perry, the soldiers, Andrew, and his opponent. Andrew was still facing our way. I realized that he was waiting to catch sight of me, and I stepped forward beyond the trees. I could not see Andrew's eyes, but he swerved suddenly so that his back was to us and his left foot touching the edge of the ditch; I knew that he was now about to make his escape. But his move had left him temporarily unprotected. His opponent raised his sword, Andrew raised his own to ward off the blow, and the scene disappeared once more into darkness. 

There was a high-pitched cry, and then silence. 

It was the longest silence I had ever endured, though it could not have lasted more than three heartbeats. When the light came again, I saw for the first time Andrew's opponent. He wore a moon brand and held a bloodied sword, and he was smiling darkly as he stared down at the still body of Andrew. 

o—o—o

Beside me, Perry made what sounded like an aborted attempt to speak. I did not look his way. Derek was kicking Andrew with his foot; Derek was not the type of man to ascertain death by mere prods. One such kick rolled Andrew onto his back so that his head hung over the ditch. Even at this distance I could see the open mouth and eyes, surrounded on all sides by blood. 

My training failed me here. I turned away and was ill. 

After a while, I forced myself to look back over the border. I saw that I was not the only one who was shaken by the bloody scene. One of the soldiers had turned from the butchery and was holding a hand over his face. I heard another soldier fling a contemptuous remark his way. The unnerved man turned back, and as he did so, I saw that he was Tucker, the young soldier whom I had seen in the city street. 

The subcaptain ignored all this. He was listening to one of the border guards, who was pointing to Andrew and speaking in an excited manner. A stray gust of wind threw Andrew's name my way. Derek lifted his head in an exultant laugh, like a wolf that has tracked down a long-sought prey. He barked an order at Tucker. Tucker nodded silently and then disappeared out of my view; after a minute I heard the sound of retreating hooves. I barely noticed this. I was watching the soldiers drag Andrew away feet first, while the blood continued to trickle down his face. 

Derek was in the process of turning his head north. I realized, with a jerk of the heart, who it was that he was seeking. I stepped back into the shadow of a pine, turned my head to look at Perry, and discovered that he was gone. 

I stood where I was, my hand gripping the knobby branch of the pine tree as I tried to listen. It was too early in the year for crickets. All that I heard was the murmur of the trees as they swayed under a wind that was making its way across the border. The moon went under the clouds, and I found myself in complete darkness in a foreign land, with no idea where to go. Then a light flickered at the southern horizon. It was a thunderstorm heading toward Capital Mountain. I turned north, and the next time the light flickered, I sighted a small dirt path winding its way through the trees. I took a step forward. 

The setting moon finally struggled its way through the clouds. I was able to glimpse the needle-strewn path before me. I had not gone far before I reached a ring-shaped clearing where moonlight collected like water in a deep pool. There, sitting with his back to what we had seen, was Perry. 

He was huddled with arms around his bent legs; his face was bowed over those legs. The sun-dried needles snapped under my foot, but he took no notice of me, not even when I sank down next to him. Finally I said in a hoarse voice, "Perry." 

My voice must have sounded like a plea for help. He raised his head instantly and stared at me, his eye awash in misery, his face bleak. He whispered, "How will I tell John?" 

"John?" 

"Andrew was his blood brother." That was all he said. I reached out toward him, but he jerked away, so I left him where he was and went to stand at the far side of the clearing. 

I remained there for a long while, watching with indifference while the moon slipped in and out of its chamber of clouds, sometimes appearing boldly in the sky, at other times hiding itself away shyly. I felt only numbness as the soft wind rattled its way through the leaves, shaking several down onto the path. And I felt no shock as the darkness lifted again to reveal a man standing in front of me. 

He was about my own age, dressed in a black tunic, unarmed, and with a badge in the shape of a Koretian god-mask pinned over his heart. There was a scar down the left side of his face, but I barely noticed it, for he had a gentle smile, and he was looking at me with very quiet eyes. The eyes were pure black, as though the night sky had settled into his face, and they sang to me like a peace oath. I did not even have to resurrect my deadened mind to know that I had nothing to fear from this man. 

Or so I thought. 

In the next moment something happened which changed all that. Suddenly the eyes began to glow golden like the sun, and the man's lips turned upward slowly, exposing blade-sharp teeth as the gentle smile turned into a hideous grin. I took a step back, and then another, and only stopped because I found that I was pressed against a tree trunk. Every muscle in my body was tensed to run at the sight of this face, yet I found myself strangely drawn to it, as though it were something I had been waiting to see and ought to recognize. 

Then the grimace and the eye-gleam were gone, and the man looked as he had before, only now his expression held puzzlement in it. For a minute more we stared at each other mutely. Finally my gaze fell to the man's god-mask badge. It was virgin black like the brooch I was wearing, yet it reminded me of another god-mask I had seen recently, pinned to Rosetta's heart. It was then that I realized what I had just seen. 

I had to clear my throat several times before I was able to whisper, "Are you the Jackal?" 

The man's voice was as quiet as his eyes. "You must be Serva. You are most welcome in this land, Princess. Andrew has spoken to me of you." 

"Andrew . . ." My voice trailed off as I looked back the way I had come. The border was obscured by trees here. All that I could see was Perry, still sitting on the ground, but now staring at us. 

The Jackal was at Perry's side before I even realized that he had moved. He knelt on one knee beside his thief, as though it were Perry who was the ruler and not he. In a voice I could barely hear from a short distance away, he asked, "What is it, Perry?" 

Perry was breathing rapidly. He stared at the Jackal for some time, and I wondered whether the Koretian ruler would command him to speak. But the Jackal merely waited. 

Finally, Perry whispered, "It's Andrew. He's dead." 

I could see the Jackal's face. His expression did not change, though he did not speak at once. Then he said gently, "Thank you for telling me. Stay here." He put his hand forward, but rather than touch Perry, he let his hand hover above Perry's before he came over to stand by me. 

Me he touched, placing his hand lightly on my arm. "Can you tell me about it?" he asked. 

I put my hands over my mouth to hide my trembling chin. This only exposed my shaking hands. My numbness was gone; now pain, sharp as a sword's edge, was beginning to travel through my body and my spirit. I said, in a voice broken like tortured bones, "We were crossing the border, and a soldier struck down Andrew. We saw him afterwards. His eyes were open, and his face was covered in blood." 

"A head wound?" said the Jackal. He spoke calmly, as though he were discussing a routine army report on battle casualties. 

"Yes," I said, feeling a shudder travel through me. "There was blood everywhere." 

Despite my best efforts, my narrative ended in a choke of the voice. The Jackal's hand tightened on my arm momentarily; then he turned and made his way back to Perry. He travelled lightly across the ground, his feet making no sound on the dry twigs and leaves and needles. His motions were as smooth as flowing water or fire. He knelt down once again beside his thief and said, "Perry. I need you to do something for me." 

An instinctive protest rose in my throat; I barely managed to hold it back. This was the ruler of Koretia. No doubt he had higher matters to worry about than the death of one of his many spies and the grief of another. Perry looked at him blankly for a minute. Then he whispered, "Tell me what to do." 

"I want you to take Serva back to the city. Not to the palace; she won't be able to enter there at the moment. Take her to Brendon's house. I'll come see her there. Can you do this for me?" 

Perry hesitated a moment, and then he nodded with a single jerk of the head. His eyes were fixed on the Jackal, as though it were important for him to follow his ruler's every movement. He asked in a tentative voice, "What are you going to do?" 

The Jackal made no reply, but as he rose I saw his gaze drift back toward the south, where the silent bursts of light were continuing on the horizon. The outlines of the trees were black against the flickering sky, as though a fire had swept through this part of the forest. 

"You can't go back there," I said. I knew I could not be making a good impression on the ruler who was now my only hope, but I felt that I must save him from danger. "Even if Perry gave you his sword, it would do no good. There are a dozen soldiers there, and they will never let you have Andrew's body." 

As quietly as a baby sighing, the Jackal said, "Perry may need his sword. I do not." 

"Look," I said desperately, "I know that you were once a spy yourself, but even so, this is not the time to be using your old skills. The soldier who slew Andrew tracked us all the way from the Daxion palace. Subcaptain Derek will know if you cross the border, and he is a brutal killer. He killed Andrew, he killed the King's Bard, and he will kill you." 

There was a pause. The Jackal's left hand curled slowly into a fist, though in a strange manner, almost as though he were hiding his fingertips. There was no anger on his face, but I saw Perry suddenly lower his head again, like a sailor who witnesses an oncoming wave. At the moment that he did so, the Jackal's eyes turned golden once more. 

I found myself unable to move, paralyzed by the fire-filled eyes that looked upon me. When he spoke, the Jackal's voice was as soft as before, yet it seemed to boom across the sky, like thunder that is heard at a great distance. 

"Go back, both of you, as fast and as far as you can go, for when the god's servant is harmed, the god alone must bring vengeance. I am on the hunt, and I will not rest until I have drunk the blood of my enemies and consumed their bodies with fire. This is to fulfill the promise that I made to my people long ago: for those who love me I bring peace without bounds, but for those who have broken my law, and repent not of their evil ways, there can be no peace." 

Then he was gone, though I had not seen him move. I was left alone with the Jackal's timid thief, struggling to contain the same horror I had felt at the moment of Andrew's death.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Beta readers:_ Katharine, [hpfan12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpfan12/), and [Kathleen Livingston](http://www.freelance-proofreaders.com/freelancers/kathleen-livingston.htm).
> 
> [Publication history](http://duskpeterson.com/cvhep.htm#challenge).
> 
> This story was originally published at [duskpeterson.com](http://duskpeterson.com). The story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Copyright © 2019, 2020 Dusk Peterson. Permission is granted for fanworks inspired by this story. Please credit Dusk Peterson and duskpeterson.com for the original story.


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